We Walk By Grace
by Cati-dono
Summary: RP style fic; much better and longer description inside. Angels don't get sick, until they do. And Dean Winchester can handle any threat, until he can't. Set somewhere after season 7, but nobody went to Purgatory. Slight AU, canon divergence, and pre-established Destiel. Rated M for violence, dub/non!con, and self-harm. Will have regular update schedule.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Hey y'all! This intro is gonna be especially long, so bear with me. There's a lot of backstory to cover. Image used is "Castiel" from luckyraeve's tumblr post/53292589051.

So, this is a collaboration I did with my best friend Julie (the-ever-present-julie on tumblr). It grew out of a bad habit we got into of RPing over the phone. That is, she would text me saying "CAAAAS!" and I would text back saying "DEEEEAN!" and it would devolve from there. Our boys had many wild adventures, (one of them, involving Alistair, was sort of reincarnated as another fic under the title of "Mine",) and unexpected parties. (lol jk). And then one day I said, "Julie, what if Cas caught angel rabies?" and thus this fic was born. (The angel rabies ended up being less than a quarter of the overall plot, of course, but that doesn't matter.) The piece is written in alternating POVs between Dean and Cas and eventually Sam, switching pretty much every other paragraph. It's kinda a unique RP-style, if you read that sort of thing. Very new experience for the both of us.

AND BEST OF ALL it is 100% complete, so we'll have a regular update schedule as we edit the chapters. I'm thinking every Tuesday. Except this one because we were excited and wanted to get it out ASAP.

Okay, so, if you're still interested in reading this by the time I've finished talking, there are some things you should know about the 'verse. Cas, fallen and almost Grace-less, has an apartment in Connecticut and a job at the local library. Sam is happily attending Yale Law School with a full ride. Dean is working hunts all alone in Maine. He and Cas have, miraculously, discovered their feelings for each other via phone calls and texts, and both have used the L word! (not lesbians.) There has been no actual anything though because, as I mentioned, Dean is in ME and Cas is in CT.

Right now, Dean is investigating a series of supernatural killings and attacks that have been worse than usual; more vicious, less predictable. It's like the monsters are all on steroids mixed with hallucinogens. Not pretty. A few months ago, on a hunt, he met a group of five well-meaning but very underprepared college students who want to be hunters. It's probably worth noting that shortly afterwards Dean and Cas got into a fight because Cas was jealous of one of the girls, Clem, who had a crush on Dean. Recently, they went on a hunt that was too big for them. Dean got the monster, but one of the kids, Sean, got killed in the process.

On top of this, Dean's been having nightmares for the past few days. Terrible dreams that scare the crap out of him, but that he point blank refuses to tell Cas about. Frustrated and worried about his boyfriend, Cas decides to sneak into Dean's head one night and eavesdrop on his dream… and that's where the madness begins. Enjoy!

**VERY IMPORTANT:** Not this chapter so much, but this fic gets VERY dark and scary very quickly, as bad as or worse than anything else I've written. Trigger warnings for violence, dub-con, non-con, character death, and self-harm. Please don't read if anything mentioned above upsets you!

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**Chapter 1**

"**In the middle of the night, I go walking in my sleep" ~**_**River of Dreams**_**, Billy Joel**

_This was it. Dean paused by the entrance, holding out his arms to slow down the four young hunters who were with him. "Me first. Stay quiet, and don't get yourselves killed." In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have brought them with him, but he needed backup and they were all he had. They had one chance to get this right, to destroy whatever had been making all the supernatural things in a 50 mile radius hulk out and act insane. Cautiously, Dean pushed the door open and headed inside. _

_There was nothing notable about the room he entered except the lingering smell of charred wood. Dean pressed forward, the others spreading out behind him. He went into the next room. _

_There, standing in the center of the room with his back to him, was a figure in a familiar trench coat. _

"_Hello, Dean." Cas turned to face him. "I've been waiting for you." Then the angel disappeared. _

_Before Dean knew what was happening, he heard screams behind him and he spun, lunging forward to grab Cas by the back of his coat and stop him, but the angel moved too quickly. A moment later, the four kids Dean had trained, had trusted, had gotten involved in this whole mess, were dead on the floor, blood seeping from their wounds. _

_Castiel slipped his angel blade back into his coat and looked at Dean. _

"_No," Dean whispered. "No, Cas, this isn't you. It can't be."_

_Cas smiled, stepping towards Dean. "I thought you'd never get here, little one," he said, voice swelling with power so that a window shattered and Dean had to press his hands to his ears to protect himself. "Come." _

"_Cas, please, you've got to pull yourself together." _

_Light was shining through Cas's eyes now, and he laughed, a sound that made Dean fall to his knees in the kids' blood and scream in pain__. __"My hunter," he said. "Look at me." _

_Dean didn't, though; he kept his eyes squeezed shut. When Cas fell silent, he could hear the sound of footsteps coming towards him. He had to get out of here. Had to leave. But a moment later, Castiel took his face in his hands almost tenderly. "Look at me, beloved," he repeated, fingers slipping up over Dean's eyelids and gently lifting them. _

_Dean looked, and his sight was burning, but Cas was beautiful, more beautiful than anything Dean had ever seen, and even as Dean screamed he smiled in awe. The angel's true form had a half-dozen faces, and each of those faces stretched into something akin to smiles in return. Then Dean saw no more. _

_He was helpless. Cas had stripped him of his weapons and his phone, and he never let Dean leave his side. Dean could only listen as the angel moved his way down the East Coast, slaughtering all those who stood in his way. When he tried to fight the monster that had once been his friend, Cas only laughed and held him. Effortlessly deflected his cries and his blows and his struggles until Dean was worn out, and then cradled him close like a sick child. And so Dean stayed with him, unable to fight and unable to run. _

_Sam caught up with them a few weeks after Maine. He came in too rashly, too eager to fight, and Castiel was ready for him. The angel moved away from Dean, leaving the hunter in darkness as Dean shouted for him to stop, stumbling along with arms outstretched and falling to the ground. A second later, the air was filled with cries that weren't his own, screams that were terrible and pained and almost inhuman, and then all was silent. _

Castiel tore out of the dream with a half-shout that probably woke the couple next door, but right now they were the farthest thing from his mind. Part of him was glad he had entered Dean's nightmares, because now he knew that Dean would never have told him what exactly they were. Not when they featured Castiel — he tried not to think about the way it had felt for Dean to have his eyes scorched out of their sockets. And this was the third night in a row that Dean had suffered through it? One thing was certain, the dream was not normal. Something or someone was sending it to the hunter; it was too vivid, too realistic to be natural. Castiel was seized by an irresistible urge to fly to his hunter and just hold him, to whisper over and over that he would never let that happen, and to find whatever was slipping into Dean's head and destroy it.

The last embers of his Grace flickered as Castiel focused on them, willing them into flame. He had to fly, just once more. Had to get to where Dean was. With effort, Castiel shut away his fragmented thoughts, closed off the panic, and dropped into a meditative state. He _could_ fly there, he thought fiercely. He just needed to prepare. It wasn't easy, but he ignored the part of him that warned that Dean wouldn't appreciate finding out that Cas had spied on him, that he would be afraid of the angel. When his mind presented him with images of Dean angel-proofing his apartment, of the look of terror on his face when he saw Cas in the doorway, Castiel shoved them away with single-minded determination. Dean needed help. And nothing was going to keep Castiel away from him now.

Somewhere in Maine, Dean slowly woke. He tried to shed the dream in layers, first discarding the ringing of screams in his ears, then divorcing himself from the darkness, forcing his eyes to open and _see_, take in the faint shapes illuminated by the soft blue light from his bedside clock. But he couldn't get rid of the deep trembling of his limbs, the terror that strangled him as surely as a noose as he huddled like a child under his blankets. _It wasn't real_, he repeated to himself. _It's just a dream. _

His reassurances didn't calm him and he sat up in bed, placing his face in his hands and concentrating on the rasping of his breathing. _Damn it. _Cas would want him to text him or call him, tell him that he'd woken up from the same dream a third time, a dream that was more real than reality, a dream that Dean could never tell his angel about. But that would just upset Cas, so Dean swung his legs out of bed. There were times when drinking was the only solution, and this was one of those times, no matter Cas's disapproval. He brought the fleece blanket from his bed with him, wrapping it around his shoulders like a cape and clutching it protectively in front of his chest with one fist as he walked toward the bedroom door. A soft rustle sounded behind him, familiar, but long unheard. Angel wings. Dean spun around, heart hammering in his chest. It couldn't be.

"Hello, Dean." The instant Castiel landed, he realized that he had grossly overestimated his own abilities. The room around him was being swallowed by moving patches of darkness, and he swayed on his feet, nearly falling before he put a hand on the wall to steady himself. "Dean, I'm sorry." Castiel panted, feeling the exhaustion threatening to overtake him. His whole body ached, especially the wispy shadows that used to be his wings, but he couldn't give in now. He had to make Dean understand. Castiel's next words were jumbled as he forced them out of his mouth, and he knew they weren't making sense. "I went into your dream tonight. I know it was wrong; I'm sorry. But I was so worried and—Dean, I would never do that. But that isn't the important thing." Castiel realized he was somehow sitting on the floor, but he couldn't remember his legs giving out. "There's something causing them, some kind of magic, but I couldn't—I couldn't trace it." Castiel's eyes closed and he fell to the side, but a hand wrapped around his arm, keeping him from cracking his head on the floor. "I wouldn't, Dean," he muttered hazily, and kept repeating the words over and over until true unconsciousness claimed him.

Cas. It wasn't fair that Dean's first reaction upon turning around and seeing the angel, _his_ angel, was fear. He lurched away and his back slammed against the door, his mind bright with images of Cas as he'd last seen him, no, _dreamed _him. Cas with light bursting from his skin into a great and terrible figure that Dean couldn't see so much as _feel_, his bones humming from pure angelic power, his mind swallowed by the sublime, his eyes turning to fire and his throat raw from screaming. This wasn't the Castiel who'd taken him and led him through the dark like a crippled pet, barely speaking to him, just killing those who offended him and coming to comfort Dean with a rough hand placed on Dean's head or shoulder or the small of his back when it was over. This wasn't the Castiel whose actions forced Sam back into hunting, who meant to murder Dean's brother in front of him with Dean floundering out into the darkness, clutching at nothingness to try to stop them from killing each other. That Castiel didn't exist.

This was Dean's Cas. But his Cas couldn't travel like that, was barely an angel anymore, and here he was right in front of Dean. Apologizing.

Cas wasn't supposed to know about that, had promised not to go into Dean's head. For a moment, Dean wanted to scream at him, but then Cas collapsed to the floor, so Dean pushed his fear and anger back because _goddammit_, his angel needed him. He grabbed at Cas's arm to keep him upright as Cas mumbled some nonsense about magic. A moment later, Cas was out, his last thought unfinished on his lips.

Dean lowered him slowly to the floor and took a deep breath. This was Cas. He reached out a hand and touched Cas's cheek gently. _Real_. Even though dream Cas had felt real. Dean shuddered and shrugged his shoulders as if to physically shake the dream from him. It didn't work.

Even so, he lifted Cas onto his bed and carefully settled the angel's head on a pillow, then untied the black dress shoes, pulling them from Cas's feet and tossing them into the corner. There was nothing else he could really do. Cas had overdone it. And now there was another flicker of fear, a painful reminder that this was _his_ angel and Dean _loved _him, that he wasn't some monster from a dream, and he was hurt. Dean draped the blanket he'd earlier had around his shoulders over Cas and shuffled into the kitchen. He grabbed his whisky from the cabinet where he'd let it rest unopened for a month, normally taking a beer instead when he wanted to drink. As he returned to the bedroom, he pulled up a chair from the kitchenette, placing it next to the bed and straddling it so that the back of the chair made a barrier between him and Cas. He opened the bottle.

Castiel came back to consciousness slowly, painfully. His head hurt so badly that he could almost ignore the burning sensation in the rest of him, like he had simultaneously pulled all of his muscles. Opening his eyes, he winced at the brightness outside. That meant it was day, which meant he had been unconscious for at least six hours. The memory of the last time he had seen Dean, the flash of naked terror in his eyes, pricked Castiel to full consciousness. Slowly, carefully, he rolled his head until he could look around the room, realizing as he did so that he had been moved to the bed. "Dean?" he whispered, praying that the hunter would respond.

"Hey, Cas," Dean murmured in reply. He was slumped over the chair, edges of its back pressing into his armpits, but he didn't care to move. His head was sideways along his upper right arm, and he blinked blearily at Cas. Somehow he'd fallen asleep. The whiskey must have helped. Of course, now the bottle was under his chair, where Cas might see it and bitch at him, so Dean carefully moved it with his foot until it was safely under the bed. No need to worry him over nothing. "You gonna tell me what happened? How the hell did you get here?"

Castiel could have cried. Not only had Dean answered, but when Castiel finally forced his eyes to focus on the hunter's face, he saw no trace of the fear from earlier. He did smell the alcohol fumes lingering in the room, but that wasn't a fight he could get into right now. He smiled tentatively at Dean, suddenly overwhelmed by just being able to see him again. Then Dean asked his questions, and the reality of the situation came crashing down around him. He struggled to a sitting position, resting his head against the peeling wallpaper and staring fixedly at the foot of the bed until the room stopped spinning. Although he would no doubt tell Dean the whole story eventually, Castiel decided to answer the easy question first. "I flew. The journey cost me more than I had expected, but I seem to have made it here in one piece. I'm not sure I could fly back anytime soon, though."

"Reckless," Dean said, tentatively reaching out a hand and touching Cas's shoulder before withdrawing it quickly. He stood, turned the chair around, and sat back down, settling his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. "You shouldn't have come; you're not strong enough." That much had been abundantly clear from the moment Cas had landed. "You had me worried. And I didn't think you could fly anymore." Easy talk first, because how could he start off by yelling at Cas, with his slumped shoulders and tired eyes? Even if part of him desperately wanted to take the fallen angel by the lapels of his trench coat and shake, saying _how could you, _and _you promised me you'd stay out of my head,_ and _I didn't want you to know about that dream for a damn good reason_. And, despite the circumstances, he _was _happy to see Cas.

"I didn't think I could fly either, but..." Castiel trailed off. There was no fear of Cas in Dean's eyes, but there was a tightness in his expression that spoke of frustration, anger, and maybe a little fear for him. "I had to come, Dean. What you're… experiencing..." Castiel's voice hitched slightly, even though he tried to keep it steady. "They're more than dreams. Something is causing them." He waited, hoping that Dean would be able to forgive him for breaking his promise.

"And you know that because you decided to fly around inside my brain after you promised not to. Nice, Cas." His voice was a little harsher than he'd intended, but he couldn't say he cared all that much. What Cas had done to him was wrong, even though he had good intentions. Dean would forgive him, he knew, but not before this conversation.

Castiel wilted into the bed, trying not to look like Dean had just kicked him in the stomach. Dean was right, he knew. Castiel had no right to poke around Dean's dreams, and now that his initial panic for Dean's well-being had faded, he realized how uncomfortable he must be making the hunter. Dean hadn't wanted Castiel to know, but he had taken the knowledge anyway, and now Dean might not trust him anymore. The thought sent an icy jolt through his heart, but Castiel tried not to focus on it. "Dean, I am sorry. I know that what I did was wrong and there is no excuse for it." _Not even that I was worried about the man I love_, he added silently. "But no matter the content, those dreams are being influenced from an outside source, something powerfully magical. It may be the same thing that's been causing chaos up here."

Sheesh, Cas could look pathetic if he wanted to. It was enough to make Dean feel bad for an instant before he stifled the feeling. "What is it? You were talking about magic before. How can that be causing all this crap, Cas? Witches don't drive monsters crazy like they've been up here. And why would a witch want to make me have bad dreams?" _And I still am pissed, _he wanted to say, but Cas had already forced the conversation on and frankly, he didn't want to fight with Cas when he looked like he'd just run a gauntlet.

"I don't know, Dean. I've never heard of anything like it before." Castiel knew that Dean was still angry, and suddenly that seemed much more important to him than whatever was causing the supernatural chaos around them. "Dean," he began, then hesitated. He didn't know what to say. Watching Dean's face, he swallowed hard before continuing. "I am sorry. I took from you without your consent, and you have a right to be angry about it. But I would do it again if I had to." His eyes fixed on Dean's, silently begging him to understand, to forgive. "If I were troubled, you would do everything in your power to find out why so that you could help, you know you would."

"I'm not _troubled_." Dean frowned at the angel. "And I can't get into your head anyways, so it's kind of a moot point. Don't go poking around in there again, you hear me?" Dean knew that Cas would say "Yes, I hear you," but one thing was absolutely true about what Cas had just said: Cas would do it again if he felt he had to, which basically meant he would do it again, period. It was only a question of when. "It's a matter of trust, Cas." He crossed his arms loosely in front of him and glared.

"Yes, Dean, I hear you." Cas was still feeling very shaky, but he forced himself to swing his legs out of the bed anyway and sit facing Dean. For all their joking, flirting, and promising, this was the first time he had seen Dean in person since they had admitted to loving each other, and now that he was finally only a few inches from Dean, Cas was nervous. Hesitantly, he reached out a hand and brushed his fingers along Dean's cheek. "I missed you, Dean,' he whispered, afraid the hunter would pull back from the touch, or worse, smack Castiel's hand away.

Dean relaxed when Cas touched him. Yes, this was how they were now, Dean sitting here knee to knee with his angel, letting Cas touch his face. This was good, and what the hell, he could put off being angry for a while for this. So he uncrossed his arms and caught Cas's hand as he pulled it away from his cheek. "I missed you too, Cas." He smiled now, blinking quickly a few times and saying, "I didn't expect seeing you the first time after everything to go exactly like this, though."

Castiel gave a weary chuckle. "Things never do seem to go as planned around us." Exhaustion was creeping back over him, and he shivered slightly as he realized just how close to completely burning himself out he'd actually come. Banishing the thought, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Dean's affectionately and enjoying the way Dean's incredible green eyes widened. "I love you, Dean," he breathed, wanting to be the first to say the words in person, to hear how well they rolled off his tongue.

Dean smiled and put his hands on either side of Cas's face, thumbs flat against Cas's cheekbones, and took a moment to appreciate the feel of Cas against his forehead, the touch of their noses together. Cas's breath was warm against his face, heightened, and Dean breathed in deeply. Exhaled. Another moment, another fragmented instant and Dean could feel seconds ticking, Cas not moving, him not moving, everything perfectly balanced. Then Dean tilted his head and pressed their lips together.

It was a quiet kiss, gentle, almost chaste. Basically just lips against lips for a moment before Dean pulled back and said, "I love you too," and kissed Cas again, more intensely this time.

Castiel leaned into the kiss, warmth exploding in his chest. He almost couldn't believe it was real, that he was finally here with Dean, but he was and it was better than he could have imagined. _I love you_, Dean said, and Castiel was filled with a wild joy. He deepened the kiss, raising his hands to cover Dean's and hold them tightly. A jolt of something like electricity shot through him, and he broke away with a gasp. "Dean, did you feel that?"

"Is something wrong?" Dean studied Cas and slipped his hand out of the angel's to run it along the Cas's face, resting his thumb on his bottom lip. He had a strange expression on his face and Dean's heart sank, because damn it all if Cas didn't think this felt right now, after everything that had been said between them, everything they'd experienced. Dean dropped his hand from Cas and leaned back.

"I- no. No Dean, nothing's wrong." Cas saw the flash of uncertainty in Dean's eyes and caught his hands as he pulled away.

"What happened, then?"

Castiel shook his head. "Probably nothing, Dean." He tried to stand up, fully intending to settle in Dean's lap, but the room slid sideways and he dropped back onto the bed quickly.

"Whoa, Cas!" Dean lurched forward out of his chair and grabbed the angel's elbow to steady him. Cas was shaking his head slightly as if to clear it and Dean watched him carefully. After a moment, he said slowly, "You should have something to eat. Why don't you lie down a minute while I get you something, okay?"

"All right, Dean." Castiel wanted to argue, but he couldn't find the energy. Instead, he carefully stretched out on the bed again, turning his head to nuzzle into the pillow. It smelled like Dean, which made him smile, but Castiel still felt like something was wrong. His heart seemed to be beating too fast, and a tingling was spreading from his lips that probably had to do with Dean's kisses.

"You like omelets, Cas?" Dean shouted from the other room, rummaging in the fridge to find the eggs.

"I think so," Castiel called back, "but Dean, I don't think I'm hungry. I must still be worn out from the flight, I apologize."

Dean shook his head to himself. It was amazing how Cas would sometimes get into these moods where he'd try as hard as possible to deny any change from his old angel ways when he had no need for food or sleep or anything of the kind, even though Dean knew things were different now. He was like a child who got cranky and said he wasn't hungry even though he absolutely, most certainly was. Besides, Dean didn't really know what to do to help him besides feed him at this point. Build up his strength again. "You need to eat something. Drink something too. And then you get to take a nap, understand?"

"Dean." Castiel would never admit that he was pouting. "I do not think that feeding me is particularly important right now. I did eat last night."

"And now it's day. Breakfast, Cas." He glanced at the clock. "Well. Almost lunch."

Grudgingly, Castiel lay back and allowed Dean to cook him breakfast. Lunch. He still didn't want food. He was beginning to feel even worse than he had upon waking, which made no sense. He rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in the sheets that smelled like Dean, trying to distract himself from the dizziness that threatened to overtake him. "Dean, I don't feel very well," he moaned.

Dean paused for a moment, considered the eggs still cooking in the frying pan, then turned the stove off and removed them from the heat. He walked back to the bedroom and entered it, walking over to the bed and hesitantly sitting down on it, putting his hand on Cas's back. "You really overdid it, didn't you. What's wrong, buddy?"

"Don't know," Cas muttered, rolling his shoulders under Dean's hand. "M'tired. Feel sick."

"Okay." Dean paused, rubbed Cas's back absently. "Let's do something else. You get to drink some water for me. And have some crackers with it. Then sleep. But let's get something into you first, okay?"

Cas didn't really respond, but Dean got up, filled a glass with water, and grabbed a box of crackers from the cabinet before coming back. "Here."

Castiel didn't really want anything to eat or drink, but Dean acting like a mother hen was so endearing that he managed to roll back onto his side and wait patiently for Dean to return with his water and crackers. He drank half of the glass and ate a few crackers, but couldn't make himself finish. "I just want to sleep, Dean," he grumbled, eyes fluttering closed.

"Don't sleep in your clothes, Cas, that can't be comfortable."

"Doesn't matter." Castiel was really beyond the point of proper words now, and he wasn't sure if Dean understood him. nonetheless, when Dean leaned down to take away the glass and crackers, he found the strength to wrap an arm around the hunter's shoulders and tug him down onto the bed next to him.

"Cas, hang on, just let me put this stuff away, okay?" He shrugged off Cas's grip with a tight feeling in his stomach. The eggs had burned from the leftover heat of the pan. He'd deal with them later. Now, he walked back and closed the bedroom door behind him. The blinds on the window were still drawn, so the room was dim even with the noonday sun high outside. Dean padded to the bed and tugged on Cas's sleeve. "Come on, lemme get this off you, Cas."

"Dean-" Cas reached after his hunter when Dean left without opening his eyes. He still felt like the room was swimming, and he wanted to hold onto something to keep it all from drifting off without him. He heard the man move around the room, and when Dean came back and tugged at Cas's arm, he grudgingly let his coat slide off his shoulders. Dean had to physically roll him across the bed to get the rest of it off, but Castiel didn't mind. Once the thick fabric was gone, though, he realized that he was cold in just his shirt and slacks, and he starting shaking almost immediately. "Dean?" he asked again, wishing the hunter would just hurry up and lie down.

"What, Cas?" Dean asked, pulling the blankets back and bodily moving Cas to get them out from under him. He crawled in next to the angel and pulled the blankets over both of them, snuggling up against Cas and gently kissing his neck. Angels weren't supposed to get like this. Cas shouldn't have flown. He should have known better.

"'M cold Dean. 'M sorry." Cas curled himself against Dean's solid, comforting warmth. His mind was hazy with fatigue and his body ached in places he hadn't realized humans had muscles. Despite it all, Castiel kept his mind focused on Dean's scent and Dean's reassuring kisses up his neck. Eventually he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Cas sleeping next to Dean was comforting and somewhat terrifying at the same time. Comforting because Dean could listen to his soft breathing, feel his heat, hug him close and let his mind whirl about the sheer unbelievability that he could be here in bed with someone he loved right next to him, with _Cas_ right next to him, and he knew that he didn't deserve to be so happy. And then terror because Cas was sick and maybe Cas wouldn't want to be next to him in the morning and because he knew that if he fell asleep, which was likely given the poor sleep he'd gotten the night before, he might dream again.

Eventually, he did fall asleep, nose touching the back of Cas's neck, arm slung over his stomach, blankets and shared body heat pushing him just to the edge of being too warm. And while he slept, he dreamt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors' Note:** HEY LOOK AN UPDATE ON SCHEDULE! One down, about seventy to go…. Julie and I are impatient, so when I said "Tuesdays" I meant "Weekly, probably before Tuesday, but definitely by Tuesday at the latest." Just FYI.

PS Everything hits the fan between this chapter and the next one. You've been warned. Also we refuse to apologize for our gross misuse of song lyrics as chapter headers. :P

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**Chapter 2**

**"Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats" ~_Before He Cheats_, Carrie Underwood**

Dean woke when the dream ended, body shaking and cheeks wet with tears, and there was Cas fast asleep beside him. Dean shrank away as slowly and carefully as he could, wiping his face on his pillow and rolling so that his back was to Cas. He could stay here for Cas when he was sick. He could. But the trembling didn't subside for another five minutes, and he was hyper-aware that Cas was right there next to him, which did nothing to calm his terror.

So he slid out of bed, grabbed some clothes from his dresser, and went to take a hot shower. When the scalding heat didn't make a difference, he turned it to ice cold and stepped out of the shower shivering. Distractions. He could distract himself, then go back to Cas and be there when he woke up. He thought of the whiskey under the bed and wished he'd had the sense to put away before so that he could drink it now. Settling for a beer instead, Dean set about scrubbing the eggs off the frying pan and grazing, taking a handful of food from this and that as he went about the kitchen.

A knock at the door made him jump, still not free of the last vestiges of the dream. He went to the door cautiously, grabbing a handgun from the kitchen drawer as he went. Looking through the peephole, he saw that his nervousness had been unnecessary; it was just the kids. Well, two of them. Andy and Clem. He sighed and put the gun back, then opened the door for them.

"Yo, Winchester."

Dean sighed again. He didn't know why Andy thought that it was cool to greet someone with "yo," but it the only way he said hello.

"Hey." Dean wasn't necessarily unhappy to see the kids, but since Cas was currently passed out on his bed, now probably wasn't the best time.

Andy had a hand on Clem's shoulder and looked vaguely annoyed. Clem, though, was biting her lip nervously and looking around the apartment.

"What's wrong?"

She just shrugged a little and shook Andy's hand off her shoulder.

"Clem had a nightmare and she's freaking out," Andy said. "Wants me to pick up Jenny and Keith, bring them back here." He laughed, wrinkling his nose. "I mean, come on, Clem, you don't really want me to pull them out of class because you had a bad dream, do you? Just chill here until you feel better; don't drag the rest of us in it."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean said. "Since when is my apartment the place to gather when someone gets spooked?"

"Since you told us this was a safe place and we could come here if we thought we weren't safe, dumbass," Clem said, glaring at Dean. Right. But that had been before Cas showed up. "Besides, Dean, you know that I don't get scared that easy. Just tell Andy to get Jenny and Keith, okay? It wasn't just a nightmare, Dean, I swear." She looked at him with pleading eyes, puppy dog eyes, and Dean thought for a moment that she and Sam would get along.

Then he remembered his own dream and his breath caught slightly. If Cas was right… But why would Clem be targeted with magic dreams? It wasn't like she was much of a threat to a witch, especially when compared to Dean… She was a kid, after all. Strange to call them kids and remember that when he was their age, he'd been hunting for years and firmly believed that he was one hundred percent an adult. And when he looked at Clem and Andy, he could see that same conviction.

"All right," he said at last. "Bring the others here. Just in case."

"Thank you, Dean," Clem said, relaxing slightly.

Andy turned to go, adjusting his down coat on his shoulders.

"One thing, though." Dean paused, considering how to tell them about Cas. "A buddy of mine is sick and sleeping in the other room, so you guys have to keep it down, okay?"

Clem nodded and gave him a little smile.

"A buddy of yours?" Andy demanded. The kid was annoying sometimes.

"Yup," Dean replied. "An old friend. Comrade in arms."

Andy's dark eyes met Dean's for a long moment before he said, "Why didn't you tell us about him? Tell us he was coming?"

"Because it was none of your business."

"Okay, well, now it is. Who is he?"

Dean leveled a glare at the man. "My friend," he repeated slowly, as if Andy was hard of hearing. "His name is Cas. He's sick. It's not your problem."

Andy frowned but left, slamming the door behind him. Dick.

Dean turned to Clem, who was still visibly shaken. "That bad?"

She nodded sharply. "I don't understand it."

Dean paused. "You okay?"

She shook her head slightly, then closed the distance between them and hugged him hard. Oh. Okay. He patted her head awkwardly for a moment before giving in and hugging her back.

"You know," he said softly, "I get it. The dream, I mean." He swallowed, patted her on the back. "I've been having some strangely real dreams myself, lately."

"You have?" Her voice was muffled.

"Yeah…"

A normal person would have decided this was the time to break the hug off, but not Clem, it seemed. Instead, she hugged him harder—if that was possible—and said, "I'm so sorry."

Great. Now she was trying to comfort him. Dean made a mental note to never share anything personal with the kids ever again. He wasn't even sure why he had said as much as he did. Probably the puppy dog eyes. Or maybe the nightmare had freaked him out more than he'd thought.

Castiel stirred on the bed, woken from dreamless sleep by the sound of voices. The first thing he noticed was that Dean was no longer stretched out next to him, and he sat bolt upright in alarm. Scanning the room, he saw nothing out of place but his trench coat, draped over the foot of the bed. Cas grabbed it and shrugged it on. The voices murmured again and Cas's ears pricked up. It sounded like Dean and a female that he didn't know. The angel was halfway out of the room before he registered how healthy he felt. The chills and weakness from the night before were gone as though they had never been, and even the fatigue that he should still be working through had been cut down to almost nothing. Castiel was still trying to take stock of his condition when he walked through the doorway and saw the young woman with her arms wrapped tightly around Dean. To his surprise and annoyance, his hunter was hugging the girl back, and Castiel felt his teeth grinding. A very human reaction of displeasure that he did not usually indulge in. "Good morning, Dean," Cas said sharply. "Did you sleep well?"

"Cas?" Dean disentangled himself from Clem quickly and stepped away from her. "Hey! Um." Okay, well this was awkward. He hadn't done anything wrong, but Cas was clearly pissed. "It's not morning anymore."

Castiel leveled his most piercing gaze at Dean. The one that he knew made the hunter very uncomfortable. "That's hardly the point." Switching his attention to the girl Dean had been embracing, the angel took a few steps closer. He wasn't exactly looming. Much. "Who is this?"

"Her name is Clem. She's one of the kids who have been hunting around the area." He paused, shifted. "Clem, this is Cas."

"Nice to meet you," she said, narrowing her eyes at Cas. Great. She probably thought Cas was a dick. No real surprise, because right now Cas _was_ being a dick.

Castiel glanced back and forth between Dean and the girl, assessing the situation. He was almost certain that this was the one Dean had claimed was attracted to him.

"Castiel," he corrected, moving across the room until he was standing next to Dean. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Clem. What brings you here?" The least he could do was be civil, Castiel told himself.

"I wanted to see Dean," Clem answered shortly.

Cas wasn't sure why he was feeling so possessive, except perhaps that now that the girl was in front of his eyes he could see for himself that she would be considered attractive by most men. And Dean did have a history with attractive women. Perhaps he didn't yet realize what being committed to Castiel meant. Pointedly, Cas leaned over and gave Dean a swift kiss on the cheek. "Did you sleep all right?" he asked again.

Dean flushed slightly. He didn't want to have this conversation now, but he didn't want Clem to think he was lying to Cas if he brushed off the question. She was watching him with a guileless curiosity and only a faint expression of surprise around her eyes and forehead.

"Another nightmare," he growled, stepping away from Cas. "But I'm fine," he added before Cas could express some sort of concern. "Clem's been having some weird dreams too. She's scared."

Clem pressed her lips together and crossed her arms over her chest. Apparently her openness about this to him didn't extend to Cas. "I'm fine."

"I doubt that." Castiel responded. "If you're experiencing dreams similar to Dean's, then your mind is being influenced by strange magic, meaning you are most certainly not 'fine.'" Cas wanted to take another step and close the gap that Dean had created between them, but he held himself back. For some reason Dean wanted space, so Castiel would give it to him. For now. "It's too dark in here," Castiel observed suddenly, glancing at the shaded windows. He was feeling claustrophobic, for lack of a better word, and so almost without thinking he waved a hand at the curtains, pushing them back with a thought. Sunlight poured in, and he smiled happily. "Much better."

Clem gasped slightly and sidestepped towards Dean, glancing between him and Cas. "What the hell was that?" She had pulled a knife from god knew where and looked nearly ready to kill someone. Dean wasn't sure if it was him or Cas she wanted to stab more. For his part, Dean could only stare at Cas. He didn't know how the hell Cas got Grace again, but honestly it freaked him out. Dean thought about his nightmare and had to suppress a shudder. He was being ridiculous.

"I didn't tell you this, Clem, but Cas isn't exactly human." He shot Cas a glare before turning back to her. "He's actually an angel. A fallen one, but—"

"Angels don't kiss hunters!" she protested, as if this was the most logical argument to raise.

At the girl's words, Castiel's eyes narrowed. With a small concentration of will, he flew across the room to stand behind Dean, wrapping his arms around the hunter's shoulders and kissing his neck once on either side. "This angel does," he growled at Clem, liking her less and less. "Is there a problem?" He knew she couldn't see his wings but he mantled them over him and Dean anyway, an instinctive display of intimidation.

The lights flickered briefly, reacting to his Grace. His still-expanding Grace, Castiel realized, taking stock of his power once more. He felt good. Whole. The angel hadn't been this strong since before he had breached the gates of Hell to rescue Dean, and he couldn't bring himself to wonder at where his strength was coming from.

"You're the one who seems to have a problem," Clem said without missing a beat. The light display didn't seem to have fazed her, but she glanced at Dean with something akin to pity.

"Cas, what the hell is going on with you?" Dean demanded, flipping around under the angel's hands and pushing him lightly away from him. "Where did you get all this Grace from? And get _off_ me, seriously!"

"I don't know, Dean. Does it matter? I can be more helpful to you now." Castiel was frustrated that Dean wasn't letting him close the distance between them, but he blamed the girl. Her presence was causing Dean to act strangely, and Castiel wished she would leave. "I should be strong enough now to trace the source of the magic from your dream." Returning his full attention to Dean, he raised one hand then lowered it slightly, remembering at the last moment that this was Dean, and Dean did not like Castiel inside his head or the dream that Castiel was about to force him to have. With a sharp turn, Cas placed two fingers against Clem's forehead instead, carefully manipulating his Grace to send her into sleep, where her nightmares lay. He noted with faint surprise that her dreams also featured her friends, and even Dean, dying horrible deaths at the hands of a monster. Clem herself survived, as Dean had, but she seemed to wish she had just been killed. Whatever attacked them first dispatched of the others, then— Castiel withdrew hurriedly, having obtained the information he needed. He didn't need to see anymore.

When Cas touched Clem's forehead, she went limp and Dean caught her. "What the hell did you do to her?" he asked, forcing calm into his voice and putting an arm under Clem's legs to lift her in his arms. Dean wanted to pull the girl away from Cas's touch, but was afraid of what might happen to her if he did. When Cas dropped his hand, Dean walked over to the couch and gently laid Clem on it, not looking at Cas. There was no explanation the angel could give him that would make this okay. As Dean settled her there, he tucked a lock of her dark hair that had fallen over her face behind her ear. "Come on, Clem."

"I did her no harm, Dean." Castiel explained stiffly. "I needed to find a sample of the magic to trace it, and you expressly forbade me from entering your mind again." Castiel's eyes unfocused slightly, as if he were looking at something beyond the room. "I made no such promise to Clem, and time is of the essence. The trail grows colder as the dream fades." He watched with displeasure as Dean arranged the girl on the sofa, not missing the way Dean moved a strand of her hair from her face. "She will be fine, Dean, but we must hurry, before the source of the magic moves or the trail is lost entirely." He held out a hand to Dean, sure that his hunter would take it. Castiel was telling the truth—Clem would be fine—but right now he just wanted Dean _away _from her.

There was literally no way Cas could think this was all right. And as anger grew in Dean, so did fear. "Okay," he said slowly, voice low in pitch and volume. "Who are you and what did you do with Cas?"

Clem stirred, blinking her eyes open and staring straight at the ceiling, a few tears falling down her cheeks. She was shaking. _Dammit, Cas._

Castiel recoiled at the fear and anger in Dean's voice. "Dean, it's still me," he replied, confused. The confusion rapidly gave way to anger, the sort of angelic fury that had leveled cities in the Old Testament. Castiel was not sure who he was angry with, but the emotion was strong and difficult to control. The lights flickered again, one of the bulbs flaring brightly and then exploding with a pop. "I am only trying to help," Castiel tried to reason. He ignored the girl on the sofa, who was waking up just as he had said she would, and focused only on Dean. "No harm was done. Why are you afraid?"

Clem sat up now, stared over her shoulder at Cas, and leaned into Dean.

"I'm not afraid," Dean growled, "but the Cas I know would never do that to her without her say-so because the Cas I know isn't a dick with wings. And he doesn't blow out lights or close curtains with his Grace, because it's gone. The Cas I know doesn't say that he didn't hurt someone when he clearly did. So who the hell are you?"

"That's not him?" Clem whispered, turning her face to Dean. She grabbed hold of his sleeve. "Is he a monster? Should we kill him?"

The problem was a sinking part of Dean knew that it _was _Cas. It wasn't some monster in Cas's form. That was his angel, but twisted and… a flicker of his dream passed through his mind and he shuddered.

Castiel was having difficulty keeping his wrath in check, but when he saw Clem lean on his hunter, saw her holding his sleeve and asking if they should _kill _him, Cas snapped. Grace began to leak dangerously from the corners of his eyes, overflowing from the sea within him. His vessel felt too tight, the skin and bones around him too fragile.

"Release him," Castiel growled in a voice that made the pictures on the walls shudder. "I will not have you laying your hands on my hunter." His body was too warm but his mind was clear and cool. He had no desire to harm the girl, but Dean belonged to him and she needed to respect that. If she didn't, well. She was only human. Castiel shuddered at the thought, closing his eyes for a moment. _That isn't how I'm supposed to think of people,_ he thought sadly. But when he opened his eyes and saw Clem there, still far too close to Dean, he decided that it didn't matter. Dean was his, they had claimed each other, and this woman was too close.

Dean froze and carefully shook Clem's hand off his shirt. He stood slowly, arms outstretched in front of him. "Take it easy, Cas," he said slowly, as if Cas were about to attack—which was entirely possible, now that he thought about it. Dean glanced at Clem. "She was just leaving."

Clem nodded, still shaking, and stood up. "I'm going, Cas. It's nice to meet you." She walked to the door.

Dean followed her to the threshold, whispering, "Don't let the others come in here. I'll be fine. Go." She nodded again and was gone, shutting the door carefully and quietly behind her.

Then, taking a deep breath, Dean turned very slowly to face his angel.


	3. Chapter 3

**Authors' Note: **Yesterday was Tuesday, right? But today is Tuesday too! ...No, it isn't. It may not even be Wednesday anymore by the time this posts. I know, we're sorry, things were happening. I just killed an inch and a half long house centipede and I may start crying. Julie couldn't find a taxi this morning. Things.

(A day late's really not bad though, considering the other things I never update ever…)

Just FYI, this is where the scary things really kick in. We've got dark!Cas, hurt!Dean, dub!con, all that jazz. Please, if this chapter weirds you out, stop now. It doesn't get better for a long while.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**"There is nothing left of you; I can see it in your eyes" ~ _Anthem of the Angels_, Breaking Benjamin**

Castiel didn't move as he watched Dean send the girl away. A rush of satisfaction dampened his anger somewhat when Dean closed the door behind her. The power buzzed in his veins, filling him with the need to _do _something, but he wasn't sure what. So the angel settled for just watching his hunter, waiting for him to make the next move.

"Sit down," Dean said sharply, gesturing to the sofa and then crossing his arms over his chest. With any luck that wouldn't piss Cas off too, but luck didn't seem to be on his side today. He stalked towards the sofa then paced, heart racing. At least Clem was safe. Hopefully having her gone would make Cas a little bit more rational, a little bit less angry.

Castiel was glad that the girl had left, but part of him kept insisting that she was still out there. That perhaps she would still prove to be a temptation for Dean, and maybe Cas should take care of her now, just to be safe. Before he could act on that thought, he was distracted by Dean's order to sit, and he tilted his head curiously at the hunter. Dean's body language, which Cas had so painstakingly learned to read, was closed off and tight, full of fear and anger. Instead of sitting, Castiel flew to Dean once more, interrupting his pacing. "You are upset," he observed, displeasure in his voice. "What's wrong?" Power sparked in his eyes again, ready to be used in his hunter's defense. He reached up and put his hand against Dean's cheek, which felt cool to the touch. "I thought you would be happy that I'm no longer ill."

Could he not walk two steps over here? Was flying really necessary? "Yeah, I would be happy you're better if you actually _were _better, Cas," Dean said cautiously. He really wanted to hit Cas's hand away, but he thought that might be a bad idea. A spectacularly bad idea. Instead, he grabbed Cas's sleeve and led him to the couch, gently pushing him to sit. "I want you to listen to me for a second."

Castiel's first instinct was to resist being _led _like a dog anywhere, and he stiffened. But it was Dean, and so the angel allowed himself to be seated on the sofa. He had to tilt his head to look up at Dean, which he did not like, so he tugged the hunter down with him. "I _am _'actually better', Dean." Castiel tried to keep his voice calm and soothing, but it was difficult when Dean was looking at him as though he were about to explode. His own anger was still there, woven into his Grace, and he felt it shifting restlessly beneath his skin. "I'm listening," Castiel finally said after taking a few deep breaths. Another light bulb shattered, but before Dean even reacted to the glass raining down on them, Castiel turned it to sand with a thought, blowing it away from them.

Dean's eyes flitted from what had been the light bulb back to Cas with unease. He swallowed, suddenly finding his throat very dry. He'd thought that maybe Cas still would respect him at least a little, but it seemed that he was merely placating him. In another situation, Dean would have been annoyed, but his annoyance and anger was quickly fading to pure fear. "Okay, Cas," he said, rapidly trying to organize his thoughts. "So, you know how I was having that nightmare? Do you remember what it was about?" Very hesitantly, he slid his hand into Cas's, lacing their fingers together. Doing so sent an apprehensive shiver down his spine, and he wondered if it had been a mistake, if it would be easier for Cas to tell how freaked out he was when they were holding hands.

Castiel watched as Dean shifted nervously, eyes taking in every inch of his hunter's face. When Dean took his hand the angel smiled, the contact soothing him slightly. Between Dean's proximity and the pulse of his Grace, he was finding it difficult to concentrate on the conversation, but the mention of a dream caught his attention. Yes, Dean had been having a nightmare recently. That was why he was here, Castiel remembered suddenly. He had come to be with Dean, to protect him. Protect him from... Castiel's thoughts were derailed as a jolt of magic shot through him. It was like throwing gasoline on the flames of his Grace, and the power flared too bright for him to contain. Castiel's fingers tightened convulsively around Dean's, and he only just managed to cover Dean's eyes with his free hand before he outshone his vessel in a sporadic flash of light and Grace that fractured the glass in the picture frames on the walls and decimated every remaining light in the room.

Dean could still see the light burning red through Cas's hand. His heart pounded and he started to sweat and hyperventilate because _goddammit, dreams aren't real! _But this was real and he squeezed his eyes shut, held onto the hand that he'd taken from Cas with all his might, nearly matching Cas's crushing grip, and wished that he could just let go. Grace shouldn't burst from angels like that. It wasn't right, it wasn't normal, and it was going to destroy Dean if he wasn't careful. But what could he really do? He couldn't just leave Cas like this; hell, the angel might not even let him go. There was a happy thought. What else? Grab some holy oil and cage him? A good idea, but there was no way Cas wouldn't notice him doing that. The truth was, Cas had the upper hand here. Dean just hoped he could find a way to snap Cas out of whatever this was before things got out of hand.

In the wake of Castiel's outburst came a wave of dizziness, along with a memory that was not his. _Dean's screams as his eyes were scorched from their sockets, the beatific smile on Castiel's true face the last thing he saw._ "I— Dean, what's going on?" Castiel whispered. As if he had been pulled away from himself for a moment, he suddenly saw the taint on himself, the same sickly green that had tinged Dean's dreams. "I don't feel right. There's something—" He dropped back into the swirling ocean of Grace, and whatever he had seen was gone. The power wrapped hungrily around him, pure and sweet and needing to be used, and he dropped his hand from Dean's eyes.

As the light faded and Cas started to talk, Dean could tell that it really _was _Cas. His angel looked confused as he took his hand away from Dean's face, and had lost the stoniness around his eyes and in the set of his jaw.

"Cas? What is it?" Dean grabbed the front of Cas's shirt with his free hand. "Is that you?" But the momentary softness of Cas's face phased back into the hard look he'd been wearing, and Dean's breath caught in his throat. He loosed his hand from Cas's shirt and leaned away.

"What is what, Dean?" Castiel asked. He leaned forward as Dean leaned back, planting a kiss on the hunter's jaw. "And I told you before, it's always been me." Castiel wasn't sure what he needed more, an outlet for his power or Dean. Why not have both, he decided, crowding further into Dean's space and wrapping his free hand around the back of Dean's neck. He used some of his Grace to clean the sweat from Dean's brow, and another touch to vanish his shirts, leaving Dean clad only in his worn denim. The pants would go later. Dean's torso was tense, so tense, and Castiel diverted more of his Grace to working out the knots in Dean's shoulders. He wanted his hunter to relax.

Okay, this was _not_ going in the direction Dean wanted. "Cas," he said through gritted teeth. "I _liked_ that shirt." He paused because for some reason his body was relaxing despite his anxiety. His eyes met Cas's and Dean knew it was him. Dean's breath caught in his throat as a shiver started up his back and died unfinished.

"The shirt is not gone, Dean. Just on the bed. Perhaps we should join it." Castiel flew them both to the bedroom, dropping Dean on the mattress and landing over him. The lights in this room went quickly too, as did the whiskey bottle under the bed, but Castiel didn't notice. He continued to wrap Dean in his Grace, soothing him and caressing him. Dean was his hunter, and Castiel wanted him.

"Is this really the time for this?" Dean gasped as he fell back onto the covers, unsure where he was for a moment. His bedroom. Of course. Cas was still doing whatever freaky Grace thing he'd started in the other room, and Dean had to close his eyes for a moment as waves of reassurance swept over him. "Dammit, Cas." Dean had meant for the words to be forceful, but instead they sounded almost calm.

Leaning into Dean so he could press more kisses along the man's neck, Castiel growled softly, "Would you rather be elsewhere, Dean?"

"Actually, yeah. We're in the middle of a hunt, Cas. I'd like to be out hunting." There was no way this was going there. And holy crap, the freaking angel had to stop using his Grace on him because it was disorienting as hell. Cas blinked at Dean like he had no idea what he was saying, and Dean seized the moment to sit up, using one arm create some space between them, and pick up his shirt from the edge of the bed. Pulling an arm through a sleeve, Dean turned so that his feet were flat on the floor. But that meant his back was toward Cas and he couldn't gauge the angel's response. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he waited, pulling his other arm into the flannel and buttoning the shirt up. He shifted his shoulders into the soft fabric, wanting to stand up but slightly afraid to. There was also the question of whether or not his legs would support him if he did. Damn angel mojo.

Castiel frowned as Dean pushed him away and began to clothe himself again. He had promised to never again touch his hunter's mind, but perhaps the body could be convinced instead. Choosing not to remove Dean's shirt a second time, Castiel slid up behind his hunter and nuzzled his ear. "I don't believe you, Dean." He focused harder, Grace seeping under Dean's skin and through his muscles, relaxing him, letting him know how wonderful he could feel if he just _lay back down _with the angel. Castiel ran his hands under the edge of the shirt and up Dean's back, reveling in the smoothness of the skin, marked here and there by the silky lines of scar tissue. "We can hunt later. The witch can wait." His hands slid around to map the lines of Dean's stomach, and Castiel pressed himself against the hunter. Grace was a heavy, tempting cloud around them.

Dean sagged in the angel's arms and closed his eyes as the messages from his body drowned out his mind for a second. Imagining how good this could be if he just… What? Forgot that Cas was out-of-his-mind psychotic and trying to influence him with Grace? Because that was definitely a healthy way to have sex with his boyfriend for the first time. "Stop it," he growled, forcing himself to his feet even though Cas's hands still lingered on his hips. He couldn't keep himself upright, though, and his knees buckled, muscles too lax to hold him upright. Cas caught him easily, pulling him back against him. "Cas—"

Castiel kissed the side of Dean's neck. "Dean," he admonished, "why are you resisting so much?" He kissed his neck again, then loosened an arm from Dean's middle, clearly planning to lift the hunter back onto the bed.

"I said no, Cas." Dean pushed at the angel. He was so powerless right now; it was terrifying. "And put your Jedi sex aura away. It's making me sick." That would piss him off. Probably a bad idea. Dean wasn't sure he cared. Though he supposed he would care if psycho-Cas decided to force the issue. He gathered his strength and wrenched away from Cas, stumbling to the floor. Once the angel wasn't touching him anymore, the power of his Grace lessened, and Dean managed to get his feet back under him and head unsteadily towards the door.

Castiel's lust was shot through with rage as Dean rejected him _again_. He flew from the bed to stand in the doorway, blocking the way with his physical body as well as his wings, which crackled into existence slightly as he spread them. "Do not walk away from me, Dean," he hissed, the color leaching from his eyes until they glowed white with power. "You are mine. I _want _you. And Grace or not I know you want me."

Dean backed up slowly, holding one hand in front of him and stabilizing himself with the other. "Cas, you need to calm down." He was very slowly getting muscle control back, but instead of feeling steadier, he found his body shaking again.

Castiel heard Dean, but he was not interested in listening. He began to advance, herding the hunter back towards the bed. Dean was confused, but Castiel was going to help him understand. After all, Dean did want this, Castiel could tell, but he wasn't letting himself have it.

Dammit. This was having absolutely no effect. Dean kept backing up, hyper-conscious of the fact that Cas was moving him towards the bed again, and scrambled for a plan. Weapons to use against angels in his bedroom? None. What was he supposed to do now, slice open his palm and draw a sigil on the wall in blood before Cas could jump him? Fat chance of that happening. He remembered Cas's momentary saneness right after he'd covered Dean's eyes to protect him from the Grace. What had given him pause? The dream.

Somehow Dean doubted talking about it would do anything now, but it was worth a try. Excellent plan. Open up to the deranged angel. But it wasn't like he could really make the situation any worse at this point in time. This was it. "Remember my dream, Cas? Remember how scared I was? I know you do, because you were there. I'm scared now, Cas. Look at me." He swallowed hard. He hated saying this. Hated the vulnerability, hated begging. But, at this point, what else was he going to do? "I thought you loved me, man. Do you? 'Cause something's not right with you, and part of you knows it. Think, Cas. Please. You gotta let me go." Dean could feel himself trembling, and it worried him. He was scared, yeah, but he shouldn't be like this. It was pathetic, really. Was Cas doing this to him too? Or was he just so damn scared of that nightmare that he couldn't control himself?

Castiel was gathering his Grace for another physical assault when his hunter's words made him hesitate. A flicker of unease ran through him, shaking his confidence. "I do love you, Dean," he said slowly, haltingly. The word felt strange on his tongue, brought back memories of the night before… had it been only the night before? The first time he had told Dean that he loved him in person. It had been different love then, not this feeling that drove him now, this blind lust and sense of ownership. Cas closed his eyes as another wave of dizziness swept over him and he experienced that strange out-of-body feeling again. He saw himself looming over Dean, literally glowing with power, and he saw how Dean was shaking with fear, although he tried so hard to hide it. It made Castiel sick to his stomach. He could feel the sickly tug of the Grace reaching for him, trying to drag him back under, but he couldn't let it. Not when he might hurt Dean. Or worse.

"Dean, go." His voice was small and uncertain. "Please."

"Thank you," Dean breathed. He walked swiftly past Cas without looking at him, head down, shoulders curled inward. The amount of time he had was… very small. And he knew it. He wanted to get the hell out of this apartment and hop in the Impala and then drive as far and as fast as he could in any direction. Canada, Michigan, North Carolina; it didn't matter where he ended up as long as he was away from here. Somewhere Cas couldn't find him, somewhere Cas wouldn't think to look. The marks on his ribs would keep him hidden, for a while at least, eating in lousy diners and falling asleep at rest stops. But Cas would find him, Cas always did. And he didn't trust him not to go find Clem or Sam or anyone else and destroy them.

So Dean didn't run. He went into the other room and knelt by the chest he kept in the corner, fumbling with the latches and digging through it until he found a bottle and a matchbook. His first few attempts at opening the bottle failed because his damn hands were shaking so much, and he cursed. From the other room came the soft sound of Cas moving and Dean jolted nervously just as he opened the bottle, nearly spilling half of its contents on his lap. Then he stood and sloughed it onto the floor in a messy circle, tossing the bottle into the trunk behind him. He knew Cas would come. He wouldn't be able to stay away for long enough.

Castiel's heart broke at Dean's whispered gratitude. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but he tried desperately to fight it. He stood where he was, shivering slightly, staring past Dean as the hunter scurried around him and out of the room. His instincts were screaming at him to not let Dean get away, his Grace thrumming with the need to possess, to claim. But Castiel somehow managed to not give in, to let Dean get away. He remembered the effort it had taken to fly here, the way his last mangled shreds of Grace had pooled to carry him, and wondered what he had done to himself.

This new Grace was seductive, wrapping lovingly around him, singing to whatever an angel had that passed for a soul. He shuddered and staggered to one side, almost toppling onto the bed. It felt so natural, that he should have this power and use it. Use it for Dean, or _on _him if he continued to resist. For a moment Castiel remembered his promise, then pushed it aside. That was then, this was now. Dean needed Castiel's help to overcome this fear that seemed to have gripped him. It was for the hunter's own good. He heard a soft curse and a clatter from the living room, and Castiel smiled. Perhaps Dean was not as confused as he seemed. Buoyed by his sparking, swirling Grace, Castiel took flight, landing just in front of Dean. "You stayed," he murmured, face mere inches from Dean's. "I knew you would, my hunter."

Dean jumped when Cas appeared right in front of him, but regained his bearings. He'd been waiting for this, after all. In one practiced movement, he lit the match and dropped it onto the circle he'd drawn in holy oil. It caught immediately, and Dean turned to leap out of the circle and hopefully not light himself on fire too.

Almost as soon as he finished speaking Castiel caught the scent of the oil, but it was too late. The flames flickered into life around him, hemming him in, trapping him. Dean turned to jump out of the circle, but quick as a snake Castiel grabbed him by the arm, pulling Dean close against him. "Where do you think you're going, Dean?" The angel tucked his chin over Dean's shoulder and drew Dean's wrists behind his back, pinning him. _How could Dean do this to me?_ he wondered vaguely, a sort of icy calm settling over him. His power may be restrained by the flames, but inside the circle he could do as he pleased. And what he pleased now was an apology. The weight of his Grace settled on Dean once more, and this time it was no gentle tease of the flesh. "Dean," Castiel breathed in his ear, ignoring the flames around them. "I want you to apologize to me. And I want you to mean it." Castiel brought his Grace down and _demanded_ that his hunter acknowledge his dominance. "Tell me you're sorry and you will never do that again. _Now_."

Dean was no stranger to pain, both in giving it and receiving it. But this was something different. The world faded out around him. Not the way normal pain worked, when red flashed before his eyes and his focus narrowed to something between _goddamn it_ and _where is the thing so I can kill it_ and _is Sam okay?_ or, in Hell, _will this ever stop_ and _you deserve this _and then emptiness except for the pain. This was different. Everything around him just disappeared. The fire crackling around him made no sound, and the light from the open window didn't reach his eyes. Even the feel of his clothes on him and his sense of gravity were gone. There was just his body and Castiel and emptiness. This was not Hell. This was the torture of angels, the dominance and the power, and no human was meant to feel it. This pain was a power of will and it was crushing him, forcing the air from his lungs and pushing thumbs into his eyes and hitting his hands with hammers to destroy the delicate bones and rupturing his internal organs and folding him in on himself like a fetus in a womb. It was a pain that would make a man be born again, ears screaming at the lack of sound that pounded into his skull like cannons, eyes seeing nothing but flowers of color blooming in bursts of agony, skin aflame, curling up on the edges of his body and leaving behind nothing but ash. He forgot his own name.

There was something that this infant of pain and angels needed to do, and he could feel it in his core even as words lost their meaning to him. His God was before him and he was to worship. He was small. He was pitiful. Castiel was the universe. And he, a speck, had done wrong. "I'm sorry," he gasped.

The instant Dean spoke, Castiel let the force of his Grace dissipate. He cradled his precious hunter to his chest and spoke soothing words into his ear, feeling the way Dean trembled against him. "There now, Dean, that wasn't so hard was it? Shhh, you're fine, I'll keep you safe, don't worry. Nothing will ever hurt you again, Dean." As he spoke, Castiel laid one hand flat against Dean's chest and _reached_ deep inside. When he came to the sigils and symbols carved on Dean's ribs he carefully teased them all out, keeping up a steady stream of comforting words as Dean twitched against him. Castiel took all of the marks and replaced them with just one, carved into the center of Dean's sternum, so all those who cared to look could see: _Castiel_. "You're mine, Dean, and nothing is going to keep us apart," he whispered, inhaling the whiskey and gunpowder scent of his hunter.

The hunter named Dean clung to Castiel like he was an anchor that would keep him in harbor. The rhythm of the words comforted him. Here was safety. He trusted Castiel.

Why?

Castiel was good. Castiel would protect him. Castiel would keep him close.

A soft whimper he couldn't hold back escaped him, but he only held tighter to Castiel. He worshipped his collarbone and the side of his neck with his lips.

That was when a crack of sound came from behind him, from the door, he remembered, and he could see it kicked in, delicate splinters of wood fraying from where the lock had held it in place. And four figures, armed, ready, weapons leveled at him and his angel. He made eye contact with one of them, a slight dark haired girl. "Help me," he mouthed. He wasn't sure why.

"Shoot him," she ordered, but the others hesitated.

"Clem, he's not—"

She aimed, fired, and hit Castiel in the forehead.

Dean cried out wordlessly and clutched at Castiel, curling into him, terrified that he'd been injured. The sound of the gunshot still rang in his ears, frightening and loud, and he hid his head against the angel. This wasn't right. Clem wasn't supposed to shoot Castiel. She wasn't even supposed to be here.

Castiel's head snapped back as the round pierced his skull, but he hardly noticed. Dean was hiding against him, and Castiel quickly twisted away from the people in the doorway to shield his hunter from any stray bullets. He leveled a glare at the girl—the one who was trying to take his hunter—and wished he could immolate her. Or perhaps turn her into a pillar of salt. The child who should have kept running but turned back. . A trickle of blood dribbled down his face and onto Dean's, and drops of it hit the holy fire with wet little hisses that smelled of ozone. "Let me out of here, Dean," he hissed, shaking his head. The smashed bullet popped free of his already healing skull and clattered on the floor. "Release me so that I can punish them for their transgressions." Already his Grace was swirling behind his eyes, a deadly maelstrom of purest white.

Dean shuddered, afraid of the bullets and afraid to see what Cas would do, but he nodded against the angel, and Castiel loosed his arms from him. Dean walked to the front of circle and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. No one was firing anymore.

"The hell are you doing, Winchester?" Andy said.

"That guy's going to kill us, isn't he," a girl with dark hair and hazel eyes said. Jenny, that was her name, the hunter remembered. "And Dean's just going to _help _him kill us." She whirled on the girl named Clem. "You said you thought he was in trouble!"

Clem muttered something to her and the other girl's eyes narrowed.

"If you get us all killed…"

Dean ignored their words, marking them as unimportant and letting them glide past him. Castiel was the only one who mattered when he spoke, and he had spoken. Dean was to let him out. For some reason Dean's throat tightened at the thought of what Castiel was going to do to the kids.

The fourth one, male, porcelain skinned, delicate featured, walked two steps towards the burning circle on the floor. Keith. "Dean," he said softly, "Cas is going to kill us if you let him out. You don't want us to die, do you?"

Dean hesitated, then turned to look questioningly at Castiel. Dean wasn't really sure if he wanted the kids to die or not. He liked them, and he had always protected them, hadn't he? But if Castiel said they had to die…

Castiel was watching the young humans with his wide, white gaze. At Dean's hesitation, he turned to the hunter, head cocked to one side. "Dean? Are you going to listen to him? Over me?" His voice was soft, almost kind, but the air pressure in the room suddenly dropped a few notches. Castiel knew that his whole body was probably glowing now, and he made an effort to keep the light at non-lethal levels. He always wanted to be able to look in Dean's green eyes, to see the devotion staring back at him. Even if that made it more difficult to rid himself of these nuisances. "I'm waiting, Dean." A soft touch of Grace through Dean, the barest sweep of a feather over exposed skin. Castiel knew his hunter would do the right thing.

Shame shivered through Dean at Castiel's words. Of course he wasn't going to listen to the kids over him. How could he? And then, a wave of reassurance erased all of his doubt. He squatted to extinguish the flame with his shirt.

"Now!" Dean started at Clem's shout, but his surprise turned to alarm when Jenny and Andy ran up, grabbed him by the arms, and dragged him over the circle of flames. Heat bit at his skin, and he screamed, trying to pull out of their grip and retreat to Castiel's side. The guns were firing again and Dean's panicked struggles intensified. The thought that Castiel might be hurt terrified him. He needed to get free, protect the angel.

Castiel snarled in anger as more shots rang out. How dare these children raise their weapons against an angel? Not only were they shooting at him, he saw suddenly, but they were taking Dean. They had laid hands on his hunter and they were _taking him_! Castiel's rage overflowed, sudden thunderheads forming in the midst of the overcast sky, and he tried to grab Dean, but he was too late. He made as if to lunge forward but the girl unloaded her gun into his face, and even an angel needs a few seconds to regrow his eyes. But Castiel didn't need his eyes to settle his Grace on Dean one more time. "Let me out, Dean!" he commanded. "Don't let them take you away from me. Fight them!" Then the hunter's feet slid across the barrier and his Grace was stripped back from the hunter like an old bandage. Castiel stepped back, snarling, as the jingle of bullets falling to the ground surrounded him.

"No!" Dean cried, but his body was too shaky from fear to adequately fight back against the two people dragging him from Castiel. His legs were on fire, he realized vaguely, but that wasn't nearly as important as his abduction from Castiel's side. Hands were on him, pinning him down and beating out the flames. Then someone folded Dean over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, teetering slightly as Dean struggled to get free. Then they were moving, away from the circle and away from Castiel.

Something in him relaxed with sudden relief, but the rest of him revolted, and he shouted Castiel's name, fingers outstretched and grasping towards the angel, as they carried him from the room and closed the door behind them. It felt like he was losing part of himself, having some piece of his soul ripped from him. He shouted until his voice broke and his body went limp despite the pain of his burns and the horror at being separated from Castiel. Then, Andy slid him to the ground, slung Dean's arm over his shoulder, and continued half-dragging him down the stairs. Keith slipped under his other arm and a moment later they were out of the building, Dean still craning his neck as if he could see Castiel standing behind.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Shhh, it's still Tuesday. And really, my roomie turned 21 today, so you all are lucky I'm here to be passing this out at all. NYCC ON SATURDAY! SHOUTOUT TO JULIE AND CONNOR!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**"'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome. And I don't feel right when you're gone away" ~_Broken_, Seether**

Somehow Dean ended up in a car that wasn't his, leaving the Impala behind. He was in the backseat, Clem next to him and touching him on his arm and on his face and his shoulder and he couldn't figure out why. Then he realized that he was crying and she was trying to comfort him. He couldn't make out the words, but they kept talking to him and he kept looking out the window at the apartment complex they were leaving behind.

"You're gonna be okay, Dean. Come on, please. Talk to me."

He turned and looked at Clem, didn't really recognize her. She rubbed a tear from his cheek.

"We got you away from him; you're safe now."

He shook his head. There was no way for Dean to make them understand that he wasn't safe away from Castiel. When Dean was with him, Castiel would protect him, but now… Clem wrapped an arm around him and took his hand with her free one. He didn't close his fingers over hers.

"This is a freaking nightmare," Andy said from up front, swinging the car around a curve a little bit too forcefully. "Is he still blubbering instead of telling us how the hell to kill that thing? Or if it can find us?"

"Lay off, Andy," Keith said. He looked over his shoulder from the front seat. "How's he doing, Clem?"

Clem shook her head.

"Damn," Jenny said. "Maybe you should slap him or something. Snap him out of it."

Clem gave her a withering look and squeezed Dean's hand.

"Well what else are we supposed to do? Didn't you say he was all grouchy toward this guy before, telling him to back off? Why's he attached to him now?"

"Magic?" Keith suggested.

"I've never heard of a spell that does _this _to a person." Jenny waved a hand at Dean.

"Cas isn't a _witch,_ he's an angel," Clem said. "And we don't know anything about angels at all."

At the mention of Castiel's name, Dean straightened slightly, trying to focus on the words.

"Yeah, what's that about?" Andy growled. "If Winchester knew there were killer angels out there, he should have told us."

"He didn't know this guy was a killer angel, Andy, he said he was his friend," Clem reminded him.

Andy snorted. "Yeah, more like boyfriend."

"Shut up, Andy."

"You're just pissed because it turns out that your burly hunter crush is gay for an angel. What is it with you and older men anyways, Clem? First Prof. Johnson, now Dean Winchester..."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Clem said, voice dangerously low, "and I wish you would cut it out. You've been this way ever since Sean died and—"

" Why?" Dean wasn't conscious of saying the word, but it came out in his voice and everyone in the car fell silent instantly. The grief at being parted from Castiel was a physical weight on his chest, making it hard to breathe. "Why did you take me away?" His shaking intensified, and he couldn't look at anyone. He didn't want the kids to see him like this.

Clem was saying something to him again, touching his bare shoulder, his face, and he hated her because of her hands and the way they caressed. He was not hers. His body belonged to Castiel, along with his mind and soul. And he wanted to serve Castiel with all. He remembered the angel's hands on him, pinning him to the bed back in his apartment, and he couldn't remember why he had said no. Why he hadn't kissed Castiel with reverence and let him take all that he wanted. It would have been an honor.

And now he couldn't imagine why he felt sick to his stomach for thinking that, and he clung to the girl's hand.

The car stopped moving. Clem said something to Andy and he scowled before shedding his down jacket and passing it to her. Clem put it on Dean's lap and smiled at him, saying, "You're gonna be cold if you don't put this on. When we get up to Andy and Keith's we'll find you something else to wear, okay?" Her voice was light and animated as if she were talking to a toddler, but he put the coat on without saying a word. His hands were still shaking too much to zip it up, so she did that for him. They got out of the car and she stayed at his elbow as if he were about to fall. It had started to snow.

"So we're bringing a shirtless, shoeless thirty-something year old man wearing burned pants who looks like he's high out of his mind into a school sponsored apartment," Keith said dryly. "That makes total sense. No one will notice at all!"

Jenny hit him gently on the back of his head and they walked en masse into the building. They certainly attracted a few curious stares, but only one person stopped them: an Asian girl in gym clothes who was leaving her room. "Who's that?" she demanded.

"My cousin," Andy replied smoothly, and they passed by.

Upstairs, Keith unlocked the room he shared with Andy and they all entered, kicking off their shoes and leaving them in the corner.

Andy went off into the side room and came back with a pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt with the school's logo on the front. "Put this stuff on and we'll wash your clothes." He pressed the shirt and pants into Dean's arms and paused as if considering whether or not to make a snarky comment. Instead, he patted Dean on the shoulder and looked away.

"Hang on," said Clem. "You're shaking like crazy. Let me unzip you." She unzipped the jacket, then unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans too before stepping away. There was a pause.

"Congratulations, Clem, you finally got in his pants," Andy said.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Clem demanded. "Jesus Christ, is everything about sex to you? What did you want me to do, let him sit in there and struggle with the fricking button on his pants for ten minutes because he couldn't stop shaking? You are so immature, I can't even—"

Dean tuned out their hysteria and shuffled into the side room where Keith and Andy had bunked their beds and closed the door. Castiel would be angry with him for letting the girl do that, he realized sadly, but Dean would have to tell him anyways. And then Castiel might kill the girl even though she didn't mean any harm.

No. She had kidnapped him from Castiel. She took him away. She deserved Castiel's divine punishment.

Dean shivered and remembered how he had been punished for being bad. And he liked the girl even though she had stolen him and touched his shoulders like he belonged to her and unzipped his pants for him. He did not want her dead. But he wanted Castiel.

He dropped the clothing on the floor and folded his hands together, lips forming a prayer. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to let them take me. Please come get me. I need you." He waited, anxious, but there was no answer, and Castiel didn't appear.

What was he doing? Right. Changing. With a sad sigh, he took off the coat and placed it on a bed, then slowly worked the slightly charred pants from his hips, avoiding the burns as best he could. He pulled on the sweatpants and tee shirt before sitting on the floor. It shouldn't matter what the kids thought, Dean knew, but when he heard them whispering in the other room he flushed self-consciously all the same. Curling his fingers in front of himself, he observed the cuticles that needed to be pushed back, the scab from where he'd scraped his hand on a hunt a few days ago, the veins and tendons that stood out on the back of his hand. And then he thought of Castiel's hands. The wideness of his palms, the roses of wrinkles over his knuckles, the expressiveness of his fingers, the way they felt on his body. He shuddered and didn't know why.

Someone knocked on the door. "Dean? You doing all right?" Clem. She waited several seconds for Dean to respond, and when he didn't, she said, "Has enough time passed for it to be _proper_ for me to go in yet, Andy?" She opened the door without waiting for a reply. "Dean?" She looked through the dim light and found him on the ground. She sighed, shut the door behind herself, and squatted in front of him. "Are you going to be okay?"

In the semidarkness, Dean could see concern written on her forehead and around her eyes. "What happened to you?" Her voice was very gentle and she put a hand on his knee.

He didn't move except to breathe, staring past her now.

"Okay," she said to herself and sat down and scooted on the floor so that she was sitting right next to Dean. She wrapped an arm around him and leaned her head on his shoulder. Very slowly, she began rubbing his back in gentle circles, then started to find the tight spots in his shoulders and then his lower back. With her free arm, she found his hand once more. He didn't respond to her touch. She took a breath. "Do you remember why I came to your apartment, Dean?" she asked, not looking for an answer. "It was because I had a nightmare. You said you were having nightmares too. Remember?" She rubbed his neck with her thumb, and Dean shivered slightly. He wasn't supposed to let her touch him. Especially not like this; she shouldn't be so close to him. "You gave me a hug because I was scared. Are you scared now, Dean?" Pause. Nothing. "Then Cas came out and—"

"Castiel."

"What?" She looked at him and stilled her hand. Dean wasn't sure why he had said that, and it took him a moment to respond.

"That wasn't Cas."

She took a breath, resumed rubbing his back. "Okay. Who is Cas, then?"

"Cas is…" He drew his knees up to his chest and began sobbing. Clem was talking to him, whispering soothing things to him, but he didn't hear. He squeezed his eyes tight and bit his lip as a wave of nausea rippled through him because he was being disloyal to Castiel and he didn't want to be. He belonged to Castiel, Castiel was an angel, Castiel was good, Castiel would keep him safe, Castiel would caress him, kiss him, make love to him, keep him out of the darkness, kill those who would keep them apart, care for him.

"Castiel will rescue me."

"Rescue you from what, Dean?" Clem asked. She was kneeling in front of him now and her hands were on his face. "Is something hurting you?"

He nodded, crushed his hands to his eyes. His body was shaking more than it had been before, and he wished he could just disappear, fade into nothingness.

Another pause, then, "How did you meet him?"

"He pulled me out of Hell."

Clem stiffened slightly then shifted her position and put both her arms around Dean, holding him tightly as if to keep him from rattling apart. "Wow, Dean, that's really something, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Did you like him right away?"

"I tried to kill him with a demon knife." He felt the sacrilege of it in his throat and wished to punish himself for such a transgression, however long ago it was.

"Oh." Pause. "So, Hell? Like, Hell hell, or..." It was a tentative question, and when she asked, she petted his hair gently.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Dean paused, shut his eyes. He couldn't remember. "I was bad," he said at last, but that didn't seem right. It was a reason to go to Hell, but it wasn't _his_ reason. "No," he said before Clem could speak again.

"What is it?"

"My brother," he said slowly, drawing out the syllables as if he wasn't sure what he was saying was truth. "I went to save him." He didn't know from what.

"You have a brother?"

"Sam," he said, and he could see him, he could see Sammy, his little brother like a giant next to him, floppy long hair and puppy dog eyes. He could see him as a baby, soft and warm and gentle, he could see him smiling and laughing as a child, he could see him with spilt milk in front of him on the table, running after some stranger's dog in a park, tucked into bed at night by Dean. And he could see Sam going off to college, going on hunts with him, pouring over some old book, putting his dislocated shoulder back in place, asking all those chick-flic touchy-feely questions that Dean couldn't remember why he hated, drinking beers with him, and, more recently, saying goodbye to hunting and him and heading back to school. Dean pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and he wished that it would all stop because _god_, it hurt. He loved his brother. He was not supposed to love anyone but Castiel.

"Dean." Clem was shaking his arm gently. "Come on, you gotta answer my questions. Does your brother hunt?"

"No," said Dean.

Clem stopped shaking his arm, body sagging.

"He used to."

Her shoulders went back and her face brightened. She smiled at him. "I want to call him, Dean. Doesn't that sound nice? You can talk to your brother."

His stomach clenched and he grabbed her arm as hard as he could with his grip so compromised by shaking. "No."

She faltered. "Why?"

"Do not call Sam." The conviction was tight in his chest. Sam must not know.

"Tell me why, Dean." No answer. "I have to know why you don't want me to call."

"He got out." He didn't know what that meant, but the words felt right on his tongue. "I can't bring him back. He got out."

Clem kissed his cheek. "You sweet thing," she said. He didn't know why she thought he was sweet, and he didn't like her kiss on him. Castiel would be angry. Dean wanted to rub it off, but now she was holding both of his hands. "Trust me, your brother would want to help you right now. I'm gonna call him. Where's your phone?"

Clem couldn't do that. Dean shook his head desperately. "You can't do that, please, please, don't do that to him."

"It's okay, Dean." Clem got up and reached for Dean's discarded pants, sticking her hand in the pocket and withdrawing his phone. Dean lunged for it, but Clem was too fast for him. She hit a button on the phone and it illuminated her face with a bluish glow. Dean stood too, limbs barely cooperating.

"Don't call him, please don't call him, he isn't gonna hunt anymore, don't make him hunt, he got out, don't make him come back for me, it's my fault, I don't want him to come back, I don't want him to hunt, I—" He kept reaching for the phone, but she took one of his hands in hers and he stilled for a moment at her touch while she found what she was looking for and hit a button. He heard it start dialing and started to cry again.

Sam would take him away from Castiel. No, that wasn't why he was crying. Sam would hurt Castiel. No. Sam would…

Clem squeezed his hand when someone picked up on the other end. Dean's heart stopped. "Hello? This is a friend of Dean's. Are you Sam?"

Sam jumped when he heard his phone start to ring from across the room, "Back in Black" roaring tinnily from the speaker. Dean calling, then. He checked his watch as he disentangled himself from the piles of papers and textbooks spread around him on the floor. Sure, he had a desk, but the floor was much bigger. Easier to work on. It was seven thirty, and he frowned. Strange time for Dean to call, especially on a Thursday. Sam would never ask, and Dean would never tell, but Sam knew better than to call on Thursdays because that was when new episodes of Dr. Sexy ran. So it was with confusion, and the faintest hint of unease, that Sam answered. "Hey, Dean. What's up?"

He frowned when a girl—college age by the sound of it—replied. A friend of Dean's, huh? "Yeah, this is Sam. Who's calling?" He couldn't come up with a logical reason for someone else to be calling him on Dean's phone that didn't involve injury, and his heart sped up nervously. "Did something happen to Dean?"

When Dean heard the voice at the other end of the phone, he didn't recognize it at first and he relaxed because thank god, someone else had picked up and now Clem couldn't tell Sam and make him hunt again. But then he felt sick because that _was_ his brother's voice and he had forgotten. He clung to Clem as she walked from the bedroom into where all the others were situated, Jenny and Andy in desk chairs, Keith cross-legged on the floor. "Hang up, please, don't talk to him—" His voice was soft and desperate, but Clem talked over him.

"My name's Clem." She sounded uncertain. "My friends and I have been on a couple of hunts with your brother and—"

The voice was faint in the background, but Sam knew it better than any other. It was Dean, only—he sounded strange. Young. And he was begging, _begging_ the girl to hang up the phone. Every instinct Sam had kicked into overdrive. Something was very wrong. The girl introduced herself as Clem and started a hesitant explanation, but Sam overrode her. "Dean? That was Dean. Why isn't he on the phone?" Sam's voice went low and dangerous. "I swear if you've done anything to hurt him I will hunt you down. Now tell me what happened." As he spoke he was throwing open the closet, rummaging in the back. His fingers met worn canvas and he drew out an old duffle that clanked as he tossed it on the bed. Dean didn't know he had kept it, because Sam had to let his brother think that Sam was free of hunting forever. But Sam was no idiot, and he knew these things had a way of catching up to them. He unzipped the bag and began layering fresh clothing into the top of it, covering up the riot of weaponry and questionable items already packed into the bottom. Sam used one hand the whole time, keeping the phone clenched in the other, desperate for answers.

"It wasn't me! And I was just telling you what happened!" She looked around at the others as she spoke, dark eyes wide.

"Please hang up, please…" Dean wanted to take the phone from her, hang it up, but Andy stood and grabbed him by the wrist, tugging him away and sitting him down on the chair.

"You be quiet," he said severely. "You're upsetting him."

Dean shut his mouth, put his head in his hands. A heavy hand patted him on the shoulder, but he didn't look up.

"Listen, we're in trouble. Do you know a guy named Castiel?"

Sam's frown deepened, and he paused in his frantic packing. "Cas? Yeah, but what does he have to do with it? He was down here last time I checked." His heart stuttered as a new possibility occurred to him. "Did- is Cas hurt?" It might explain the pain he could hear in Dean's voice, at least in part.

"Cas? No, he's not." A pause. "He's your friend, right?"

Sam was getting more concerned by the minute. "Yeah, he is. Tell me what happened, Clem." Sam wished he could just reach through the phone and shake the girl until she gave him a real answer.

"I don't really know what happened," she said very slowly, turning to look at Dean when she spoke. "But from what I can gather, Castiel… isn't himself. He did something to Dean and me and my friends had to get Dean away from him. The thing is, we know he's going to find us eventually, and the only thing we know about fighting against him is that he can be trapped in a ring of fire or something. And we need—"

"Wait, hang on. What do you mean, Cas 'isn't himself?' What did he do to Dean? You had to use holy oil on him?" Sam scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Shit, how did he even get there?" he muttered, more to himself than Clem, before speaking firmly into the phone again. "Clem, I need you to put my brother on the phone."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"What the hell do you mean, you don't think that's a good idea?" Sam cried angrily. "I know he's there, so why can't I talk to him?" He didn't have any idea who these people were, and he needed to hear from Dean's own lips that there was a problem. Even though it was pretty obvious that something was wrong. "Put Dean on or I swear to god I'm hanging up," he warned.

"You can't do that, Sam! We're in serious trouble, and we need to know some way that we can protect ourselves."

Sam wanted to scream in frustration. "Protect yourselves from what? What the hell is going on up there? What's wrong with Dean and why does Cas have anything to do with it?"

"What do I say?" Clem said softly to the others. She glanced at Dean again and bit her lip.

"Give the phone to me," Andy said, walking over to her.

"Are you gonna be a jerk?" Clem asked, covering the phone with her hand so Sam wouldn't hear.

"Just give it!"

She reluctantly handed the phone over.

Andy paced as he talked. "Listen up, bud, your brother's a pile of mush because something that Castiel asshole did to him. And that thing's going to _come here _and _kill us_ if you don't start dishing out information. Understand?"

Clem snatched the phone back, hissing, "You don't just tell someone their brother's a pile of mush!" Perhaps she noticed Dean's eyes on her because she turned to him, freezing as she saw the way he was looking at them all. "Dean, it's okay," she said, stepping over to him and putting a hand on his face. "Don't worry, you're fine, okay?"

He didn't say anything in reply, just ducked his head down so that her hand slipped off him.

Sam heard a whispered exchange, the shuffle of the phone changing hands, and then a new voice spoke, a man whose cocky tone did very little to hide the fear underneath. A man whose words knocked the wind out of Sam. He stumbled to sit on the bed as he heard Clem say something harsh, the sounds of a scuffle, and then her voice talking soothingly, as if to a scared child. Only she was talking to Dean. Sam shook his head, even though he knew she couldn't see it, and kept shaking it as he finally managed to stutter, "No, that's—there has to be a mistake, Cas wouldn't hurt Dean, ever. He'd die first." He barely registered what he was saying, because it was so ridiculous. Cas loved Dean, and he would never hurt him. And his Grace was gone, Dean had told him so, which meant there was not much Cas could do to hurt Dean anyway besides good old-fashioned human things. And Cas killing people? Sam took a deep breath, then another. "Please, just put Dean on the phone," he asked again, trying not to sound like his world was crumbling at the edges. "If I talk to him, maybe I can figure out what happened to him."

"He's asking for Dean again," Clem whispered. She was frozen in front of Dean, looking down at the floor rather than him.

"Just let the poor man talk to his brother," Jenny said at last.

She bit her lip, nodded, looked Dean in the eye. "You want to talk to Sam?"

He shook his head. "I told you not to call," he said.

Clem paused, then said into the phone, "I don't know if he'll talk to you, but I'm giving him the phone." She tried to hand the phone to him but he didn't take it, so she stood next to him and held it to his ear, head tilted to better look at the ceiling.

Sam heard Dean's voice, words muffled by the pounding of his own heart, the shift of fabric and then—nothing. Just slightly erratic breathing from the other end. "Dean?" he asked hesitantly, suddenly very afraid. "Dean, it's Sam. What are they talking about, what happened to Cas?"

"Sam." The name was soft on his lips, comforting, and he could feel the weight of the million other times he'd said it before. "Sammy." Castiel wouldn't want him to talk to Sam, he knew it in his bones, and his mouth stuttered shut. In an effort of will, though, he took a breath, tried to reign in the sobs that had restarted since he'd heard his brother's voice right in his ear, and said, "He isn't Cas anymore."

Sam shivered as Dean spoke, the sense of wrong so strong that he almost wanted to hang up just to get away from it. Dean's voice was small, strange, broken even. As he spoke he started to sob in great shuddering gasps, and Sam felt icy dread clamp down on his spine. Dean Winchester might cry when he was pushed past his limits, but not like this. This was an expulsion of confusion and pain and fear that Sam had never heard from anyone, much less his big brother. "What does that mean, Dean?" he asked, trying to sound as normal as he could. "Did Cas hurt you?"

"He isn't Cas, Sam," Dean repeated because Sam didn't understand. And Dean didn't know what his brother meant by 'hurt.'

Sam's heart felt like it was falling to pieces. He cradled the phone to his ear, wondering what he could do, how he could help. He would get in the car as soon as they hung up the phone, of course, but that would still leave them alone for hours. Hours when whatever this was might come after them.

"I don't know what that means, Dean," Sam answered finally. What else could he say? "But Dean, do you remember the sigils we learned? The ones for keeping out angels? Do you think you could show Clem and her friends how to draw those?"

"He isn't Cas," Dean insisted. Clem moved as if to take away the phone, but he gripped it with his hand. He thought about the marks he could now remember painting with Sam, but the way they looked kept swirling whenever he tried to concentrate. "I don't remember, they won't stay still." He sobbed. "Sam, don't come here, please, you can't come here, I don't want you to, you have to go to—" He stuttered as he tried to remember what was so important for Sam to do. "You have to go to school and I don't want you to come and..."

Dean trailed off as Clem gently tugged the phone out of his hand. "Slow down, Dean. It's okay." She held the phone to her ear. "Sorry, Sam," she said.

Sam couldn't answer for a few seconds. Had Cas really done something to Dean? How? And why? Sam knew he needed to get up there, but he also knew that if it was Cas, those kids wouldn't last the night without angelproofing. Finally he spoke. "Okay, Clem, listen. I'm going to text Dean's phone some pictures. They're standard angel-proofing sigils. You need to get chalk or spray paint and put them on every window and wall, okay? I'm going to drive up as fast as I can, but that will still be hours. Don't leave the house, and don't let Dean do anything. It's gonna be fine, Clem." Sam thought of how many times he'd made that promise in the past, and how many times it had been a lie, and shivered again. "What's your address?"

"Sam," she said slowly. "We're in a dorm room. On a college campus. How are we supposed to put sigils on everything?"

Sam took a deep breath, rubbing his free hand over his face. They were in a public place, literally surrounded by innocent bystanders on all sides. And if what Clem said was true, they were basically sitting ducks for an angry angel. "Okay, Clem, I need you to listen to me," he said as calmly as he could, slinging his duffle over his shoulder. He exited the room swiftly, leaving his books forgotten on the floor. "If you seriously think that Cas is going to hurt you, those are the only thing that can stop him unless you have more holy oil to trap him in. So your choices are stay there and put the sigils up or get somewhere with no people. If you can, you have to go somewhere isolated. I don't know what kind of attack you're expecting, but you shouldn't be in a building full of civilians. Is there anywhere you can go? Some pay by the hour motel, a warehouse, anywhere?" Sam just remembered to lock his room behind himself as he fled the building. He attracted a few curious stares, but none of his friends stopped him to ask where he was going.

"Don't motels have people nearby too? No, wait, I just remembered. The school's outing club has a cabin we can crash at. I think Jenny has a key to it." She exchanged a look with her friend and Jenny nodded. "Yeah, we can go there." She paused and took a breath. "Listen, Sam, thank you for coming."

Dean stood up. "He's not coming."

Everyone looked at him.

"Give me the phone."

"Dean wants you," Clem said hesitantly, then handed the phone to him.

"Dammit, Sam, you're not coming." These words felt good to say, natural, and Dean's trembling stilled.

Sam's heart lifted. He sounded better, sounded like Dean. "Dean, man, you're not firing on all cylinders," he said as gently as he could. "Those kids need someone there to help them, and you. I'm not just leaving you up there. I'm gonna come up, and I'm gonna figure out what happened to Cas and what happened to you, and then we're gonna fix it. This is not an argument we're having."

"I told you no, dammit! If you come up here, I'll go back to Castiel. I want to anyways," Dean said savagely because everyone seemed to want to keep him away from Castiel and he thought that saying he wanted to go back might hurt them, even though it was the truth. He missed Castiel, painfully, deep in his core, like a piece of him had been ripped out when they had been parted, like a shard of glass was lodged in his abdomen, like he couldn't breathe.

Sam froze, standing outside his car with his keys in hand. Go back to Cas? After the angel had apparently threatened to kill those kids? And he had said Castiel. Dean hadn't used the angel's full name in years. Even then Sam had never heard him use in that tone. Dean had shouted it in anger, whispered it sadly, but he had never spoken it with that kind of awestruck longing. It didn't fit Dean, and it didn't fit Cas, and it only reinforced how badly messed up the whole thing was. Finally he forced himself to talk. "Dean, why can't I come up? And why would you go to Cas? Didn't he hurt you?"

"You have to go to school, Sammy, you're not supposed to hunt," Dean said. "You got out. So don't come here, please. I'll figure this out." Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "I should go back." He heard Sam inhale sharply, and he quickly spoke again. "Sam, they took me away from him. I wanna go back, I belong to Castiel, Sam. I need him." He felt sure that his brother would understand when he stated it this clearly.

Nausea rolled in Sam's stomach and for a second he thought he might actually vomit right there in the parking lot. _Belong_? The thought of what Cas must have done to Dean to make him like this started a terrible rage simmering in Sam's chest. There was no excuse Cas could give Sam for this, none. But Sam had other things to worry about right now. "Dean, it's fine, I'll come back down when this is over. I can miss a few days; it's almost the weekend," he soothed. "But you can't go back to Cas right now, okay? It's not good for you. Just stay with Clem and the others okay? For me, Dean?"

"I told you he isn't Cas!" Sam didn't understand at all, and it made Dean sad. He forced himself to slow down his thoughts about missing Castiel and focus more on Sam. Sam was worried. "I'm making you upset," he said slowly, half-questioningly. He looked down at his feet and curled his toes self-consciously. "I don't want you upset," he stuttered. "I will stay with them. For you. But Sam, you shouldn't come, I don't want you to. I don't want you to see me. God." He sat back down on the chair and clenched his free fist. "You won't like what you see, Sam, and then you'll look at me like I barely exist. You'll be angry. And if you kill Castiel I will never forgive you."

"I—shit, Dean, I'm not gonna kill him!" Sam was almost overwhelmed with relief as Dean agreed to stay, but he knew they weren't out of the woods yet. "And I'm not gonna be angry with you, Dean, and I won't look at you like you barely exist, I promise. It's gonna be okay." He took a deep breath, then another. Hoped he wasn't lying through his teeth. "Can you put Clem back on?"

"Why?" Sam wouldn't kill Castiel. The relief warmed him and Dean relaxed his hand. He examined Clem, who was still watching him, but didn't hand the phone over.

"Because I want to make sure she knows that we're not gonna hurt Cas, okay?"

"Oh." Dean smiled slightly, but it felt uncomfortable on his face so he stopped almost immediately. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." He wasn't sure what he was thanking him for, but he handed the phone to Clem.

Sam sighed silently in relief. Dean seemed like he would hold on, for now. He heard the phone being passed. "Clem? I need the address of the cabin you're going to, and then you need to leave for it now. I have no idea how long the holy fire is going to hold Cas."

As Clem rattled off an address, the others began getting things together. Jenny left, taking Clem's key with her to get some things from both of the girls' rooms. Andy grumbled incoherently and dragged out a bulky duffel bag and started putting stuff in it. Keith came over and tried to figure out if his shoes would fit Dean, so he ended up wearing a pair of Andy's hiking boots that were actually too big for him. Keith had actually tied them for Dean, pulling the laces extra tight to keep his foot in place despite the poor fit. When Jenny came back, they all piled into Andy's car and headed to the cabin.


	5. Chapter 5

**Authors' Note:** NYCC was amazing. More amazing is that we got this chapter out reasonably on time anyway. Shoutout to all the Spn cosplays, esp. Alex the Impala and the Luci in the cage!

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**"Well I'm a runnin' down the road tryin' to loosen my load, got a world of trouble on my mind." ~_Take It Easy_, Jackson Browne**

Sam was glad he had actually slept the night before, because he didn't stop once between Connecticut and Maine. The needle of the speedometer barely dipped below eighty the whole way, and Sam was grateful that the roads virtually empty once he was north of Boston. After hours of single-minded navigation, Sam finally started to turn the facts over in his mind, weighing his options.

The fact was, Cas had somehow gone wrong and, despite his promise to Dean, Sam wasn't sure if he would be able to save him. Not if Cas really did try to kill those poor kids. Sam had to be prepared. When he got close to where Dean and the others were, he took an early exit and ignored the GPS warning him that it was "recalculating." He wasn't sure this was a good idea, but from what he'd gathered, Dean had been forced to leave the Impala behind, which meant that he was woefully underprepared to face any sort of threat. And Sam only had so much on his bag.

Sam found himself holding his breath as he pulled into the apartment complex. There was no reason Cas would have stayed if he had escaped, and no way he could hurt Sam if he hadn't but… the ex-hunter swallowed nervously. The parking lot was deserted except for the Impala, sitting forlornly in front of Dean's apartment. Sam parked his car and got out, staring up at the windows with wide eyes. He briefly considered going inside, seeing if Cas was there, trying to get the story from him. But Dean's voice ran through his mind again, the broken awe that filled it, and Sam suddenly knew he wouldn't be able to face whatever Cas had become. Not without taking care of his brother first. Sam turned his attention to Dean's car.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he whispered, grabbing his duffle from the backseat of his car and pulling out the long, thin piece of metal sewn into the seam. It took a few seconds, seconds of imagining the flutter of wings behind him, but he got the door open eventually. Quickly, Sam tossed his bag into the back seat and sat up front, getting out his knife and leaning to rip open the steering wheel housing. He flinched as he cut and stripped the appropriate wires. Dean was going to kill him.

At the last moment, he went around and picked the trunk as well, propping it up on a shotgun like so many times before. Sam pawed through the mess for a few seconds before he found what he was looking for, wedged in the back, forgotten and unneeded. Until now. He hesitantly withdrew the angel blade, which shone untarnished in the streetlamps. With a horrible sense of foreboding he closed the trunk and took the sword with him, slipping it down beside the gear shift as he backed the impala out of the spot and pulled away. It was just in case, he reassured himself. Just in case.

It was only a few minutes later that Sam finally arrived at the cabin Clem had directed him to. He could immediately see that they had been busy, as the light shining through the windows was partially obscured by the thick swirls of red paint crossing the glass. He parked the Impala, grabbed his things, and made his way to the door. At the last minute, he shoved the angel blade deep into his bag. Dean didn't need to know he had it; it would only upset him. Sam stood in front of the door and took a deep, steadying breath. Dean was probably still shaken up, and no matter what Sam had to be there for him. That meant not letting himself freak out if Cas had done anything permanent to his brother. Once he was sure he could handle whatever was coming, Sam knocked gently on the door. "Clem? It's Sam. Can I come in?"

Dean had been dozing on the couch, lulled by the warmth of a fire Andy and Jenny had made, when the knock sounded, and he woke up to his brother's voice. He stiffened and Clem rubbed his arm gently. Keith was nearest to the door, so he got up to answer it.

"Sam Winchester," he said as he unbolted it and opened it. "I'm Keith." He peered out past Sam as if expecting to see the angel there. "Come in. Quickly."

Now that Sam was here, Dean couldn't decide if he desperately wanted to see him or wanted to hide. Somewhere along the line he had settled into a relative calm, but the uncertainty made him shaky again.

"Hi, Keith," Sam said, trying to smile reassuringly. He was pretty sure it came out as more of a grimace. "Listen, I've got this bag; can you just go back to the trunk and grab the leather satchel back there? It's got more angel stuff in it." At least, Sam hoped it had more angel stuff in it. If Dean hadn't gotten rid of it all or let it waste away. Keith nodded and brushed past him, and Sam stepped through the door. He looked around, noting with approval the neatness of the paint lines, the clarity of the marks. It was pretty good for a bunch of newbies. Then his eyes settled on the couch, on the figure lying there next to a slim, dark-haired girl that he assumed was Clem. Licking his lips nervously, Sam set down his bag and took a few steps closer. "Hey, Dean." His voice wavered slightly, and he cleared his throat. "How're you doing?"

Dean held his breath for a moment, stared at his brother. It took him a minute to let Sam's features fall back into familiarity, but when they did Dean stood immediately and walked over to him, hugging him. Against his efforts to hold back his tears, he began to sob again and he pressed his face to Sam's shoulder. His hands tightened into loose fists at the back of Sam's shirt, rumpling the fabric.

All Sam could do was hug Dean back, as tight as he could. Over his brother's head he saw Clem smile slightly, the tiniest quirk of her lips, before she stood. Keith walked back in but she gestured to him to just leave the bag by Sam's other one, and the two of them quickly excused themselves from the room. Sam just stayed where he was, keeping hold of Dean as his brother continued to cry and pushing down his mounting dread. Eventually he tugged Dean back over to the sofa, settling Dean on it and seating himself sideways so that he was facing his brother, mirroring his cross-legged position. Gently detaching himself from Dean's arms, Sam sat back a little and looked at his brother, who sat there in someone else's clothing with slightly dazed, red-rimmed eyes. For a moment he wished he could just keep hugging Dean, comforting him and making him feel safe, but that wasn't going to help anyone. "Dean," he said softly, resting a hand cautiously on Dean's shoulder and locking eyes with him. "I'm going to help, okay? But first you have to tell me what happened to you."

Dean shook his head and glanced over at Sam's hand on his arm. Everyone kept touching him and he didn't know why. He didn't mind, though, because it brought him some comfort. He stiffened. Dean did mind because they were not supposed to touch him, not without Castiel's permission for them to do so. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath so as to not push Sam away.

Sam felt Dean's reaction to his touch, and it disturbed him. He took his hand off Dean, hoping to calm him down. Dean was acting like an entirely different person, one Sam didn't know and couldn't read. "Dean, listen, I'm just gonna talk you back through what happened, all right? So Clem and Keith and everyone brought you here." He waited for a sign that Dean heard him and then continued. "Before this you were in Clem's room. And before that you were with Cas. What were you doing with Cas, can you tell me?"

"I did something bad," Dean said softly, his hands starting to shake. "I shouldn't have done it, Sam. I couldn't have been thinking; I don't know how Castiel could forgive me like he did. If I hadn't done it I would still be with him now and he wouldn't be stuck somewhere all alone without me and I'm terrible, Sam. I can hardly stand myself, and I wish that I could take it back but I can't." He didn't look at his brother, just hung his head.

Sam put all his effort into keeping his face open, his voice calm. Despite Dean's jumpiness he reached out and put his hand under Dean's jaw, tilting his head back and forcing him to look at him. "Hey, Dean, it's all right, you're all right. Can you tell me what you did? I promise I won't be angry."

"I tricked him, Sam. I knew he would follow me so I made a ring with the oil and waited for him to come. Shouldn't have done that." He didn't want to look at Sam but Sam's hand was still under his jaw, so he couldn't turn away. His eyes skittered to the side, though, looking at the flames in the fireplace, and he wondered how it would feel to burn alive. "I apologized to him, but I can't stop thinking about him stuck there because of me and I didn't even have a reason for doing it, Sam."

Sam swallowed hard, trying to process what Dean was telling him without letting any of it show on his face. From this it sounded as though Dean had been trying to defend himself right up until Cas became trapped in the holy fire, and then... then the angel had done something. Sam still had no idea what, or how. Cautiously, he asked, "But I thought Cas was losing power, running out of Grace. You're making it sound like he's back to full strength."

"He flew here because of me and he was so sick, Sam, and it was my fault. He was worried about me. I shouldn't have made him worried." Dean played with the hem on the right pant of the sweatpants. "And he passed out and when he woke up he was still sick, but I made him sleep more. When he woke up again he was better." Dean smiled beatifically, eyes bright and raised to the ceiling. Then his expression fell and he hugged himself. "But I trapped him, Sam, I trapped him even though he wasn't sick anymore. Castiel wanted me and I didn't let him have me, Sam. How could I do that to him?" He squeezed his eyes shut and wished Sam would stop looking at him, stop asking him questions. A headache was growing under his forehead.

Sam dropped Dean's chin and sat back, mind whirling. The way Dean was now, Sam knew he wouldn't intentionally lie to him, but he also had to take his brother's words with a massive pinch of what-the-hell-did-Cas-do-to-you salt. Still, he could safely assume that when Dean said Cas "got better" it marked the beginning of this strange sort of power trip. But that still didn't explain how Cas had gotten to Maine in the first place. As for what Dean had said about not letting Cas have him… Sam couldn't deal with the shame in his brother's voice, so he decided it was best to leave that for later. "All right Dean, almost done, just a few more questions," Sam said encouragingly, watching his brother's face scrunch up childishly in pain. "Why do you say Cas flew here because of you? And why are you calling him Castiel now, why isn't he Cas?" Sam reached out to pat Dean's shoulder, then froze and dropped his hand back into his lap. "Just answer those for me and I'll let you get back to sleep, okay buddy?"

"Don't call me that," Dean snapped. "I'm not a child." He rubbed his forehead hard and whimpered, not wanting to talk to Sam anymore. "And I'm not going to sleep. I want to go back to Castiel."

Sam groaned internally. It seemed like his luck with getting Dean to talk was running out, but he pressed Dean for information anyway. Just a little more. "You want to go back to Castiel? Not Cas?"

Dean blinked at his brother, wondering how he could be so dense. "I told you he's not Cas anymore, Sam."

"What does that mean, Dean? Who is he if he isn't Cas?"

Dean turned his body away from Sam to face the fire. "I don't know who Cas is. He's just Castiel." For some reason that made him very sad and he chewed nervously on his thumbnail. He should remember. He wanted very badly to remember who Cas was other than the fact that Castiel had been him and Castiel and Cas looked the same, but felt different.

Sam watched Dean bite nervously at his finger and sighed, giving up on getting any more information out of him at the moment. He stood slowly, keeping an eye on Dean as he moved over to the room Clem and Keith had entered, then knocked on the door. "Hey guys, could you come out here for a minute?" Hopefully between what the kids knew and what Dean had told him, Sam could get some sort of an idea what was happening. Part of him wanted to have the rest of this conversation away from his brother, but the rest of him knew that there was a very real chance of Dean just making a break for it the moment he was out of their sight. And Sam wasn't going to let that happen.

"Sure," Jenny said and they got up from where they'd been sitting on the edges of the bed talking in hushed voices. "I'm Jenny," she added as she passed.

"Andy."

"Clem." She paused. "How is he?"

Sam sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, turning slightly to look at Dean, who was still staring blankly into the fire. "Honestly? I have no idea. We might not be able to fix him until we figure out what the hell is wrong with Cas. But for now at least we just keep an eye on him. And I need you guys to tell me the rest of the story, as much as you can. Dean's version is... skewed."

Dean was gone. Castiel stared at the door, listening to the sound of the students dragging him down the stairs and out the door. They had Dean, and Castiel could do nothing. His helpless rage grew, and as he listened to the crunch of tires on gravel he screamed again in frustration, shattering the glass in the windows. In an effort to control himself and stop his true form from bursting through the confines of his vessel, Castiel closed his eyes and began to meditate. While shedding this form may be one way to escape the flames, finding another would take time, and he needed to find Dean now.

_I'm sorry_. The sound of Dean's prayer in his head, apologizing, begging for him, was maddening. Castiel could practically feel Dean's faith in him waning as the seconds passed and the angel didn't appear by his side. Those who had taken Dean would pay dearly once Castiel escaped. He took deep breaths, focusing only on controlling the Grace, taming it, and the rest of the world melted away. Castiel didn't know how long he had been standing there, deep in meditation, but finally he opened his eyes once more. The light was long gone from the sky outside, and a chill wind was blowing through the empty window frames, making the holy fire bow towards Castiel in false worship.

Mindful of the damage it could cause, Castiel inched away. The circle was not very large, and he could only go so far before the flames on the far side menaced. Something had to be done, but his options were limited. Castiel scanned the room carefully, and his eyes fixed on the sprinkler heads poking out of the ceiling. They would be sufficient, but… another glance found Dean's shirt, lying just outside the edge of the flames. Perfect.

Concentrating hard, Castiel pushed against the holy fire with his Grace, careful not to physically touch it. The flames flared and expanded, chewing hungrily away at the power he fed them. The edge of the discarded cloth began to smoke, and Castiel pushed harder, ignoring the drain as the fire stole his Grace. It would come back. Finally, a tiny flame flickered at the edge of the shirt. Castiel relaxed, pulling the Grace he had left back into himself as he watched the fire take root, sending an ever-thickening plume of smoke towards the ceiling. Any moment now… There was a click and the keen of a fire alarm starting up, and, with a sputter, dirty brown water began to rain down on the angel and his prison.

"I'm coming, Dean," Castiel murmured, wishing his hunter could hear him. He watched, waiting as patiently as he could for the flames to flicker and die. He felt it the moment they did; the spell restraining him broke, and Castiel immediately flew to the roof of the building, banishing the dirty water from himself with a thought. Free now, and without the confines of the circle, he was able to let his Grace expand, searching for what the angel wanted the most right now.

Dean. Just thinking the name sent a shiver of longing over the angel's skin, a memory of Dean's soft mouth caressing his collarbone, the feel of his hunter pressing against him, needing him. And those four children had taken him away. Castiel's fury, already close to the surface, began to stir, and he spread his wings wide, reaching for Dean's soul, that one bright spark in the world that bore Castiel's name carved into his very being. With a push of his wings, Castiel flew, leaving the ruined apartment and its wailing fire alarm behind.

When he reached the place where Dean was being held captive, Castiel expected some sort of token struggle, more gunfire perhaps, as a feeble attempt to stop him from reclaiming his hunter, but as he tried to land he was met with fierce resistance, as though he had hit an invisible wall, and he found himself being forced off course. He landed heavily, sending a shockwave rippling through his surroundings. When he looked towards Dean's soul, he was met with the sight of a cabin, warded so thoroughly in Enochian that even he could not enter. And the worst of it was he could feel Dean just inside, although the light Castiel had placed within him had faded slightly in Castiel's absence.

The angel growled low in his throat, Grace arcing around his head in crackles of lightning. "Dean," he called, standing just outside the range of the spells. He sent his voice out on a wave of power that swept through the protections like water around a boulder. "Dean, I am here for you." He felt it when Dean responded, knew the instant his hunter realized Castiel had come back for him, and felt a hot curl of satisfaction. Castiel may still be trapped outside, but Dean was ready this time. Four students would be no match for him.

Castiel's power struck Dean like lightning and he sat up straight. The angel's touch warmed him from his core and he flushed with pleasure because Castiel came back for him despite his trespasses. Despite his weaknesses. And it was amazing how the fear trickled out of him, how when he trembled it was from pleasure instead of the pain of parting. He would not keep Castiel waiting. Dean stood immediately, legs stronger than they'd felt for hours, and sprinted towards the door just as he heard his brother shout his name. The man who was his brother did not matter now, though, and neither did the kids, because Castiel was back.

Someone solid tackled him from the side and he hit the floor hard, tangled up wrestling with the other person until managed to pin them down. The man who was his brother. "Bit rusty, aren't you," he said, then pushed away from him. But there was the girl with the questions who wouldn't stop touching him standing by the door, her friends all around. He hesitated one second, then ran straight at the door.

Sam's skin crawled as _something _swept over him, leaving every hair standing on end as it passed. He whirled to look for Dean but his brother was already on his feet, racing for the door. Shit. Sam dove at him, tackling him and bringing him down, but Dean had always been better at wrestling and he had Sam pinned in a moment. Sam's heart stopped when Dean taunted him. It was wrong, so wrong, that Dean acted more like himself only when that thing was near. Because now that Sam had felt the touch of Castiel's Grace he finally knew why Dean had been correcting him all night. That was definitely _not _Cas out there, but Sam didn't know what the hell it could be. His thoughts were derailed as Dean pushed off him and sprinted for the door. He scrambled to his feet, suddenly afraid of what Dean would do in his madness. If he let Dean hurt one of those kids when he was like this, his brother would never forgive himself when this was all over. Jenny was ready for him though, and the college student held her own against Dean long enough for Sam to get behind him. Wrapping one arm around Dean's neck from behind, Sam twisted one of his arms up behind his back and physically hauled his brother away from the door. "Come on, man, don't do this," he gasped in Dean's ear as the smaller man struggled wildly. "Snap out of it, Dean. This isn't you, this is some angel mojo Cas whammied you with. Fight it off!"

"Let me go," Dean cried, grasping backwards at his brother. He grabbed a handful of his ridiculously long hair and yanked hard, but his brother hung on. He lashed out, then, catching the fair boy in the nose as he tried to grab Dean's free arm. The kids were all over him now, helping his brother, and he wrenched at his trapped arm to give himself a better vantage, but he couldn't free it. He tried to think rationally about the best way to get out of this situation, but the pull to get to Castiel was too strong for strategy and instead he thrashed, kicking out with his feet and screaming Castiel's name as if the angel would be able to come in and help him.

Castiel could hear the sounds of the struggle from within, and Dean's cries for him stoked his rage to fever pitch. Stalking to a window, he snarled when he saw them pinning his hunter to the ground, too many for Dean to fight. But his hunter was doing an admirable job. Then the tall man with shaggy hair threw back his head and stared straight through the window at Castiel, and the angel's gaze narrowed. Sam was here. The angel rumbled ominously. Sam was a real threat to him, someone who could potentially come between Castiel and Dean. This would require different tactics. It also explained how the children had been able to set up protections in the first place—he had made sure that Dean would no longer have the capacity to do so. He sent another wave of possessiveness to Dean, reminding the hunter that he was Castiel's, forever, body and soul. Then the angel stepped away from the window, backing into the woods. He could wait, and they weren't going anywhere.

As they all struggled to pin Dean down, Sam felt a chill on the back of his neck and glanced up, straight into a pair of white eyes. His first thought was that it was a demon on top of everything else, but then he saw the rest of the face and the truth struck him harder than Dean's fists. Castiel's face. The angel's eyes were full of Grace and power that drowned his usual blue, and when he met Sam's gaze he bared his teeth in a snarl. The sight chilled Sam to the bone, and he almost lost Dean's arm as his brother continued to fight against the restraining press of bodies. Finally Dean was forced into immobility, and when Sam raised his eyes to the window again, Castiel was gone. Sam looked down into his brother's face, into Dean's wide, angry eyes that shone with twisted adoration, and he wondered what the hell they had gotten themselves into.

"Let me go. Goddamn it, let me go!" But there were five of them and one of Dean and there was nothing he could do anymore. He stopped struggling and wept. "You don't understand. I need him. You can't keep me here, please, please." He inhaled sharply and the air entering his lungs hurt. The sense of need was deep in his stomach, permeating out through his limbs in shivers. How to reason with them? "I have to go now. I know you don't want me to, but I have to. I can't be here without him. It's killing me, please. You're hurting me. I know you don't mean to, but you don't understand. Please let me go. I need to be with Castiel."

"Dean, look at me." Sam grabbed his brother roughly by the chin and forced him to make eye contact. "I don't know what Cas did to you, but this isn't right. You have to know that somehow, some part of you has to remember. That out there? That isn't Cas! It's not our friend and it's not—" Sam faltered, then finished softly, "It's not the man you love."

Sam's words filled Dean with a cold rage. His brother had no right to look at him like this, to blaspheme against Castiel, to suggest that Dean should be anything other than devoted to Castiel. He spat in his brother's face. "You have no idea what you're saying," he said, voice low and full of venom.

Sam jerked back as Dean spit at him, heart sinking. Whatever the angel had done to Dean, he had done it good. But Sam had to keep trying. Giving his brother to the creature that Cas had become was like letting him climb into the lion's den at this point. So Sam wiped Dean's saliva off his cheek and kept talking. "Before, when we were talking, you kept correcting me when I called him Cas. You said it wasn't Cas. Well, where is Cas, Dean? Where did our friend go when that thing replaced him?"

"Cas is gone," Dean said sadly, but he had no reason to be sad. He had something better now. "I don't need Cas," he said firmly now, brow furrowed in concentration. "I belong to Castiel. This is what should be."

Sam heard the sorrow in Dean's voice when he said Cas's name and latched onto it. "No, Dean, it isn't. You should be with Cas. Remember Cas? Gentle, a little confused every now and again, not great with people? But never demanding. Never possessive. And he wouldn't ever have tampered with your mind like this. That's the Cas you should be trying to find, Dean!"

"I miss him," Dean whispered before he realized what he was saying. His reaction when he did notice was sudden and harsh; he jerked his neck so that Sam's hand dropped from his face and bashed his head hard on the floor. "No!" he yelled. "Cas is gone and it is good. Castiel is here and it is good. I _will_ be with him."

"Shit, Dean!" Sam grabbed his brother's head with both hands, slipping one underneath to cushion against further blows while the other rested on his cheek. "Calm down, you're gonna hurt yourself!" He glanced helplessly around the room. There was no way he was going to just talk Dean out of this, not with Cas so close by. He didn't want to, but he had no choice. Who knew what Dean would do when he was like this? "Hold him," he commanded, then stood and strode across the room. He returned with four sets of handcuffs and a chair which he found in one of the other rooms. This was going to be a bitch.

The moment Dean saw what Sam had in mind, he renewed his struggles. Dean almost managed to escape from them all, but Andy drew back his fist and punched him hard in the side of the head. Dean collapsed, eyes rolling back in his head, and Andy sat back looking vaguely satisfied under all the fear and exhaustion. Clem stared at him for a minute, then punched him in the arm. "Jesus, Clem!" he yelped, massaging the spot. "The hell was that for?"

"You didn't have to knock him out, you jerk! What if you gave him a concussion?" Clem sounded furious, and she looked up at Sam for support. The hunter was standing over his prone brother, a troubled expression on his face. Sam hadn't missed the self-satisfied smirk on Andy's face when he had hit Dean, and his dislike of the man deepened.

"Andy," he said ominously. The student stood defiantly, glaring at Sam despite the extra six inches the older man had on him. His defiant glare might have been impressive to someone else, but Sam had taken worse from both angels and demons and it didn't faze him. Instead, he leveled his own dark gaze at Andy. "I'm only going to tell you this once. You ever hit Dean like that again, and Cas will be the least of your worries. Do you understand me?"

Sam didn't blink, didn't move, just let Andy look him in the eyes and read what he found there. In a few seconds the young man dropped his gaze and muttered an apology. Sam nodded once in satisfaction, then turned his attention to Dean. Clem looked like she was going to lay into Andy again, but Sam stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Don't, Clem. Honestly, it makes things a bit easier for me, but…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "Come on, let's just get him in the chair before he wakes up. Dean's never stayed down for long."


	6. Chapter 6

**Authors' Note:** Fun fact guys; this gets a little bit sexy in here. Remember how this started with some mention of dub-con? Yep. You've been warned. THIS CHAPTER ESPECIALLY rated M for mature! Also, the paragraph breaks are super awkward, but ff dot net is stupid about things like skipping a line between paragraphs, so... pardon the #.

Oh yeah, HAPPY SUPERNATURAL TUESDAYS! WHO'S READY TO CRY ABOUT CAS?

* * *

**Chapter 6**

**"And even when I dream of you, the sweetest dream would never do. I still miss you, baby, and I don't wanna miss a thing." **

**_Don't Wanna Miss a Thing_****, Aerosmith**

When Dean blinked himself awake, the first thing he noticed was that Castiel was not there. Next the pounding in his head, next the fact that he was cuffed to a chair. "Dammit," he hissed, moving his arms and legs slightly to test his mobility. Someone knew what they were doing. Well, now that he thought about it, it could only be his brother. Dean slumped his shoulders and sighed deeply.

"He's awake," said a female voice. Dean was having trouble with names and it frustrated him because he _should_ know who these people are, he s_hould _be able to think about this girl as something other than "the girl who was fighting with me earlier".

Sam hurried back into the main room when he heard Jenny calling. Sure enough, Dean was awake, but he seemed relatively stable. Apart from his fanatical level of devotion to the monster in the woods, of course. Sam walked up to him and pulled a flashlight out of his pocket. When Dean leaned away, he explained, "Calm down, Dean, I'm just checking you for a concussion. Andy probably hit you a little harder than he had to, and the last thing we need right now is a trip to the hospital. So just hold still, all right?" He flicked the light from eye to eye a few times and then stepped back, satisfied. "Well that's something," he muttered. Next to him, Jenny tried and failed to stifle an enormous yawn, and Sam shot her a look before checking his watch. "I really don't think we're going to get anywhere else tonight, so you kids might as well go to bed, Jenny." The girl's eyes wavered nervously between Dean and the front door, but Sam anticipated her concern. "I'll stay in here on the sofa tonight." With a hesitant nod, Jenny left the brothers alone.

Sam sank onto the sofa with a sigh, cradling his head in his hands. This was all so messed up, and he had no idea how to fix it. Finally, he told himself that sleeping was probably the best course of action right now. He wished they could let Dean lie down and sleep properly, but they couldn't risk it. "Okay, here's how this is gonna go tonight, Dean," he said finally, daring to meet his brother's eyes. "I'm gonna sleep here. You get cold, call me and I'll bring a blanket. Hungry, I'll feed you, have to piss, I'll walk you to the bathroom. But we can't let you go running off."

"You're just gonna leave me like this?" Dean whispered. "I thought you were supposed to be my brother." Apparently not. Not that Dean could think much of what constituted brotherhood other than the fact that brothers don't leave each other cuffed to chairs all night.

Sam's heart clenched. Dean just sounded so... so normal. It was so easy to pretend that less than an hour ago he hadn't been pinned to the floor raving like a madman. Sam knelt in front of Dean, putting his hands over Dean's on the arms of the chair. "I _am _your brother, Dean," Sam whispered, searching his brother's gaze futilely for some sign of the old Dean. "That's why I'm trying to help you. Cas isn't good for you right now. I know you think he is, but he's not. He's hurting you and I'm not gonna let him."

Dean bowed his head. There was no way he could really make his brother understand how much he needed Castiel. Every time he tried, he wouldn't listen; he just freaked out and told Dean that he was wrong. And now he was using the fact that they were brothers to justify his actions. Dean shifted uncomfortably. They _were_ brothers, of course, but... Dean couldn't look at him because he knew he was about to upset him. He turned his wrists, took the man's hands in his, and squeezed them lightly. "I'm sorry," he said slowly. "But I—" He paused. "I shouldn't say this to you, so I'm really sorry. But I can't remember your name." His brother's face froze. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Castiel had been calling him, and nothing else had mattered. Only now that Castiel had left him again, it felt somehow wrong not to remember.

Sam was having trouble getting air into his lungs. Dean couldn't remember his name? Dean was the only person alive who'd known Sam since he was born. He had practically raised him, given him that stupid nickname that only he was allowed to use. And now he— Sam stood, tearing his hands away from Dean, and whirled to stare blindly into the corner. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, but he was not going to cry. Dean didn't need a sniffling wreck of a brother, he needed an anchor, someone to hold him down when Cas's influence tried to sweep him away. So Sam stood and blinked furiously at the dark corner of the room until he was sure the tears wouldn't fall.

"Sam." he said quietly. "My name is Sam, but you usually call me Sammy 'cause you know it bugs me."

"Are you mad at me?" Dean wanted his brother to come back over to him. He took more comfort out of his presence than he should. And he didn't like him standing with his back toward him, unreachable to Dean, shoulders tight and strained.

"No!" Sam said quickly, turning back to Dean. "No, Dean, I'm not angry with you. Just... I want you to try to remember my name, okay?" Slowly, Sam made his way back to the sofa and sank onto it, feeling emotionally drained by the entire day. "If Cas comes back, I want you to remember that I'm Sam, I'm your little brother. Do you think you can do that?" His voice only trembled a little, and he hoped Dean didn't notice.

Dean's eyes followed his brother. He shouldn't have said anything, he should have just waited until someone said Sam's name, he should have tried harder to remember. "I'll try," he said very softly because he knew that trying wasn't good enough, that his brother's voice shouldn't shake like that when he spoke. He hesitated, bit his lip, clenched his fists. "I love you, Sam." His brother looked at him. "I know I probably don't say that to you ever. But I do. I love you, Sam, even though I'm not supposed to."

"I love you too, Dean." Sam wanted to say more, wanted to tell Dean that he was supposed to, that it was okay to love other people, but… Dean was doing better. It was a small step, but Sam didn't want to jeopardize it. Instead he took one of Dean's hands and squeezed it reassuringly. "Try to get some sleep, Dean, okay? You need anything right now?"

Dean shook his head. A lie. He needed Castiel, but Sam didn't want to hear that. He clung to his brother's hand, though, because he was vaguely aware that he'd been getting nightmares the past several times he'd fallen asleep. "Don't let go," he whispered to Sam, because he didn't think he could deal with being alone, even if he was only separated from his brother by space and unconsciousness.

Sam hesitated, but nodded. "Okay. Hang on, just let me—" He pulled away from Dean just long enough to throw more wood on the fire and drag the sofa closer to Dean's chair. Then he lay out on the sofa, legs curled in to fit his height, and gently took his brother's hand again. "I'm right here, Dean, okay?" Dean's grip was so tight, so terrified, that Sam sat up again. Taking Dean's hand in both of his, he started to massage it, fingers rubbing at the muscles until Dean relaxed fractionally. Keeping his eyes on their hands, Sam started to hum, then sing softly under his breath. "Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song, and make it better…"

The song was soothing, familiar, and Dean closed his eyes. If he focused on Sam's hesitant voice, the crackling of the fire in the hearth, the sound of his own breathing, he might be able to sleep. And he did, eventually, though Sam assumed him to be asleep long before then and relaxed his grip on Dean, voice falling silent. When Dean fell asleep, he dropped Sam's hand and drifted into his repeating nightmare, recalling all the terror he'd felt at that version of Castiel before, feeling it seep again into his bones. He wanted to cry himself awake, to scream, and he wasn't sure if he was actually doing it, but he didn't wake up even when the dream ended. The fight in his mind between his brother and Castiel faded into nothingness. Not the terrifying darkness he'd found himself lost in only a moment before; this was more complete, and less frightening because there was no unknown. He could not get lost in nothingness because there was nothing to get lost in. And so he was suspended there, dream-self still trying to shake off the tendrils of the nightmare that had snaked around him.

Castiel waited. He was anxious, restless, changing the forest around him by his very presence. Bushes bloomed and withered, rocks burst and let forth streams of pure water, only to dry up and crumble to dust. Most of it was unintentional, a side effect of Castiel's wildly out of control Grace. But the angel did wait. He stood, half in the world and half in the space of dreams, waiting for his hunter to fall asleep. The others may be able to trap Dean in body, but his mind was still free to roam. And Castiel intended to meet him when it did.

The instant Dean fell asleep he began to dream, a vivid, colorful dream that was more real than a human should be able to create. Castiel, though he desperately wanted to contact Dean, found himself flitting along the edges, observing all and changing nothing. He saw the fear he inspired, the death he caused to take Dean with him, and was pleased. He allowed the dream to play through, watching with a passive interest as it ended in a riot of screams and blood. Idly he wondered if he would ever have the chance to recreate those events in the waking world.

When it finished and Dean was on the verge of consciousness, he made his move, drawing the hunter back from the edge of waking. Before making Dean aware of his presence, Castiel studied him, frowning. The glow of adoration was fading, far faster than it should have even from their separation. It could only be Sam. The angel's wrath smoldered hotter, and he decided that the dream angel's treatment of Sam had been far too lenient. The man was causing Dean to doubt, to blaspheme, and Castiel would not allow it.

"Dean," he said softly, calling his hunter's attention to him. "Dean, I am here."

Castiel. The nothingness took shape and suddenly there was gravity again, Dean's feet firmly on the ground. Castiel was before him, and Dean fell to his knees, his dream body humming with fear and awe and anticipation. Castiel was not a dream, he was stepping into the fabric of Dean's mind. He was the only real thing there, and he shone with a solidity that nothing else in this world had. The nightmare still lurked around Dean, but he tried his best to banish it, despite the fact that it seemed as real as Castiel was. The nightmare was fake.

But Castiel, he was solid and he was perfect and he was here. Dean shivered in fear but did not want to run away as he had before when he had this nightmare. How could he, when Castiel was his center? All parts of him were tied to Castiel, and so it was only natural that his fears would be defined through Castiel just as his pleasures were.

Castiel could sense the fear running through Dean in his presence, and he decided it was good. It was right that Dean fear him. But Dean should also love him. Reaching out, Castiel ran a hand through Dean's hair, the soft brown locks sliding between his fingers. He made a mental note to grow Dean's hair out when this was all over; it would look good on the man. Now he just petted Dean's head like he was a favored pet, stepping closer to allow the man to lean against him. For a few moments, he stayed like that, letting Dean relax in his presence, letting him feel safe. Then he spoke.

"I called you earlier, Dean. I wanted you to come out to me, and you didn't." His soft fingers turned to claws, raking across Dean's scalp. "You disobeyed me."

Dean cried out softly when the angel's gentle touch turned sharp on his head and he pressed his face against Castiel's leg. "I tried to come, Castiel. I wanted to be with you. But Sam, he made all those other people take hold of me and hurt me and stop me from coming to you. And now they have me chained up and I can't get out." He should have done better. Should have tried harder. Anxiety tightened his chest and shame burned in his throat. Castiel should punish him.

"Sam," Castiel hissed. If Dean's brother had not been there, it would have been simple to recover Dean from his kidnappers. He would already be by Castiel's side once more. "You belong to me, Dean. Never forget that." The angel moved his hand from Dean's head to his shirt, taking a fistful and using it to guide the hunter to his feet. Castiel's hands slipped under the shirt, pulling it off, then ran up Dean's chest and scraped down his back, nails leaving angry red lines. He claimed Dean's mouth in a fierce kiss. When he broke off the kiss his eyes were glowing white again with power and lust. "Tell me who owns you, Dean. Tell me who you exist for." The words were harsh, an order.

"I exist for you, Castiel," Dean replied, green eyes bright and fixed on Castiel's face. "I am yours, forever and always. Completely." He wanted Castiel to kiss him again, and he licked his lips then left them slightly parted, soft and guileless. He wanted Castiel's touch, whatever type Castiel chose, and he wanted Castiel happy. As happy as Dean was to have Castiel back.

Castiel tilted his head to claim Dean's mouth again, reveling in the feel of his lips, in the way his body molded to Castiel's so willingly. This was as it should be, his hunter worshiping him with mind and body together. Even if it was just a dream. Castiel turned his head away from Dean's and bit him roughly at the base of the neck, sucking until a purplish bruise rose to mar the skin. His hands were all over Dean, caressing the skin, exciting the nerves, mapping the landscape of his favored possession. When he had Dean trembling in his arms, the angel stopped everything, dropping Dean and stepping back, admiring the view. "You are mine," he repeated. "And what of Sam?"

Dean was still gasping when Castiel drew away and for a moment he couldn't figure out what he did wrong or what Castiel was saying. "Who?" he asked, then remembered. "No, Castiel, he doesn't matter, he's nothing. All I need is you."

Castiel's smile was terrible and beautiful all at once, and he stepped forward to claim his hunter once more.

#

Sam woke suddenly and lay in the dark for a minute, trying to orient himself. He was on an unfamiliar sofa in a room he didn't recognize. The moon was shining in through the windows and painting reverse images of protective sigils on the floor. The past day caught up with him at the same time that the noise that had woken him sounded again.

It was a gasping sob, and Sam was instantly upright and at his brother's side, cursing while he waited for his eyes to adjust. His hands found Dean's and Sam cursed again when his fingers came away wet and sticky. Dean had been tugging at the handcuffs so hard that the metal had cut into his wrists. Why the hell hadn't Sam thought to put padding on those? Sam raised a hand to Dean's face and felt tears on his cheeks. "Dean?"

Dean whimpered then and whispered, "Castiel." Sam froze, eyes darting wildly around the room, but there was nothing but shadows and moonlight. His eyes returned to Dean, who he realized was still asleep, at the same time that his brother gave a little cry. "Yes, Castiel."

It only took Sam a second to realize that Castiel had found a way around the wards after all. He started shaking Dean's shoulder, calling his name as loudly as he dared without waking up the others. "Dean! Wake up man, you're dreaming. He's in your head!"

#

Castiel had Dean naked on the ground when something shattered the stillness around them. _...in your head! _The angel froze over his hunter, eyes wide and angry. It seemed that Sam was determined to interfere no matter where Castiel went, even inside Dean's head. Beneath him Dean squirmed, panting, eyes wide and slightly unfocused.

"Castiel?" he gasped. "Did I do something wrong?" The hunter tried to scramble out from under him but the angel sat up and pinned his shoulders.

"_No_." Castiel's voice was loud in the emptiness, Grace dripping from his lips as he spoke. The word answered Dean, but it also pushed the waking world back, dragging them further into unconsciousness. Castiel would let nothing interrupt them. Dean flinched beneath him, and Castiel quickly bent to place soothing kisses down his bare chest. "Not you, Dean. You are perfect, you are good. I want you now."

Dean moaned and writhed under Castiel, skin blistering at the touch of Castiel's burning Grace against his flesh. It _was _good and it _was _perfect, and Dean forgot everything else in his need for more contact between their bodies.

Sam didn't start to panic until the third time he shook Dean. At that point it was clear that his brother wasn't going to wake up without serious help. Dean's hips shifted in the chair as he made a soft noise of pleasure, and Sam dreaded what Castiel was doing to keep Dean under. Steeling himself, Sam slapped his brother hard across the face, snapping his head to one side. "Wake up, Dean!" He pleaded, not bothering to keep his voice quiet.

#

The world around them fractured for an instant, jagged red cracks spreading through the comforting blankness. Sam's voice again, nagging, insistent, demanding that Dean wake up. Castiel snarled. He was the only being that had the right to make demands of Dean. The angel rubbed himself along Dean, delighting in the friction the motion caused, but Dean had stopped responding beneath him. When Castiel looked into his eyes, he could see faint confusion in them.

"What—"

"Nothing," Castiel growled. "Keep going, Dean." Instantly, unquestioningly, the hunter returned to his ministrations, nimble fingers running up and down Castiel's body. The angel worked his way down the side of Dean's neck, sucking and biting and marking his hunter as much as he could. Dean groaned under his attentions, head flopping back to expose the other side of his pale throat for Castiel's inspection. The angel hummed his approval, licking from the hollow of Dean's collarbone down to one nipple. One hand trailed down Dean's stomach and stroked him briefly before moving lower.

Dean responded immediately, shifting his legs to give the angel better access. "Please, please," his hunter whined, and Castiel smiled.

"Patience," he rumbled, working slicked fingers into the hunter's body to create space for himself. No need to hurt him. When Dean's body was ready, he finally pushed inside, listening intently to the initial hitch in Dean's breathing, and then the soft moans as Castiel moved inside of him. "Mine," the angel growled, and the hunter breathed an answer.

"Yours."

Sam would not take Dean away. Castiel was going to have his hunter for as long as he wanted.

#

The lights flicked on, and Sam turned to see Clem standing in the doorway, the other three peering around her. "What's happening?" she asked cautiously.

"Dean won't wake up," Sam answered shortly, mind racing. He was running out of options, and he couldn't bear to leave Dean in there any longer. "Dammit." His eyes fell on the dying embers of the fire, and he sucked in a breath. He really didn't want to do this... Dean moaned wordlessly, a downright embarrassing sound, and when Sam looked back at him he could see fresh tears on his cheeks. "Dammit," Sam repeated, and grabbed the tongs lying on the hearth.

"Sam, what the hell—?" Clem yelled, but the hunter already had one of the larger coals gripped tightly in the pincers, swinging it out of the fireplace.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he muttered, then brought the glowing red cinder down on the back of Dean's hand.

#

New pain, not the sear of Grace as Castiel moved over him and in him, broke Dean's endless loop of _happyyesCastielperfectmore_. He convulsed, eyes flying open. The world around him suddenly seemed paper thin, as though Dean could reach up and punch a hole in the ceiling, and he shuddered from pleasure. His hand was burning, but the flesh was untouched.

"Dean." The hunter returned his attention to Castiel, who was staring at him with wide white eyes that made the world clearer around him again, bright and impossibly detailed. Castiel was beautiful. Dean kissed the skin he could reach, breath elevated, heart beating in muted thumps. This was where he belonged; surrounded and filled by Castiel, his god, his everything.

Another bolt of pain radiated up his arm, and Dean gasped. With effort, he raised one arm, grasping for something above him, just out of reach. Something important. That was when Castiel clasped his hand around Dean's shoulder, right over the handprint scar he still bore, and Dean started. "You're not Cas." The words spilled out of him without permission. Dean's mouth tasted like blood, but his fingers trailed up and down Castiel's back. "What did you do with Cas?" He cupped a hand around Castiel's cheek and wanted to kiss him or hurt him, but suddenly the world was thinning again and he tore through it, falling away from Castiel, headfirst into the abyss.

He screamed himself awake.

Castiel felt Dean slipping away from him and clutched him tighter, one hand creeping up to the brand he had given him years ago. But that seemed only to agitate his hunter, and Dean's accusing words cut through his lust. He stared down at Dean in bewilderment, confusion making him vulnerable for a split second.

"What do you mean?" he asked, but his hunter was slipping away from him, being dragged back into wakefulness. "I am Cas!" Castiel screamed after Dean, but he was already gone. The angel was left alone in limbo, surrounded by an emptiness devoid of the dreams of humans. He tried to summon the righteous anger of earlier but could only find fragmented memories swirling through his Grace. Memories of a time before Castiel owned Dean, a time when the hunter laughed and screamed and cried without Castiel's approval. The thoughts were too much, clashing with Castiel's instincts that told him how it was better this way. Abandoning rational thought, the angel fled on a tide of Grace that numbed his mind.


	7. Chapter 7

Authors' Note: Sorry this is so late, guys! Julie had like five essays to write this week and I had a molecular biology test (which I got an A on, holla!) to study for, and so we didn't finish editing 'til tonight. In our defense, this is over 6000 words and it needed a lot of help. We'll try our best to have one up on Tuesday as well, as scheduled. Enjoy!

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**Chapter 7**

**"Don't look at me like another lost soul" ~Mistletoe, Jukebox the Ghost**

Dean's hand was burning, the flesh blistering, but the pain was nothing next to the fact that Castiel was gone now, and his absence settled heavily back into Dean's bones. His shoulder ached too, deep under the tissue, a pain that was more than physical, and he couldn't think of why it should feel that way. His screams quieted to a whimper as he opened his eyes and saw Sam, but Dean could feel tears wet on his cheeks that he didn't remember crying. Blood slicked around his wrists and stuck the metal handcuffs to his skin. He was achingly hard, and his body's arousal made him feel sick.

He missed Castiel.

"I got away," he heard himself say, but his voice was a whisper.

When Dean's eyes flew open, Sam tossed the coal, tongs and all, back into the fireplace. "Can one of you get me ice? And I have a first aid kit in my bag," he called over his shoulder to the kids. He also grabbed the blanket he had abandoned on the sofa and wrapped it around Dean as well as he could. It might comfort Dean, true, but it would also hide his pretty obvious erection. Sam didn't want Dean to suffer any more humiliation. Dean's whispered admission made him freeze, staring down at Dean with wide eyes. The hope that had been fading when he failed to wake Dean struggled back to life. Dean hadn't said he's been taken away; he had gotten away, which implied at least a small amount of will on his part.

"Sam?" Dean said. "I remember your name, see?" He laughed, but the sound was high and weak, almost like crying.

"That's good, Dean!" Sam's smile was tight and nervous at the unhealthy hint of hysteria in Dean's voice, but his brother didn't seem to notice.

Clem came over and handed the first aid kit to Sam, keeping level eyes on Dean the whole time. "Do you need any help?" she asked.

Shifting his attention, Sam gratefully accepted the kit from Clem with a shake of his head. "No, I think we'll be okay. I'm sorry I woke you all. You can go back to sleep if you want." Sam popped open the kit, fingers flying over the supplies in a familiar routine as he took bandages, burn cream, and antiseptic and laid them in his lap. He took Dean's left hand in his, the one with the burn, and started to wipe the wound clean. Dean trembled a little at the touch but didn't make a sound. Sam desperately wanted to talk to Dean, ask him what happened in his mind with Cas and how Dean had gotten free, but the others were still in the room. Sam didn't think Dean would want other people to be around when they discuss this, so he kept quiet for now.

The burn was bad, and Dean couldn't help but shift as Sam cleaned it. He wouldn't look at it because the blisters reminded him of Castiel's Grace searing his skin in his dream, and he wasn't sure if that had felt good or bad. His hand felt bad, though. And something indefinable that put a pain in his shoulder and an ache in his chest like a heart attack.

Clem looked like she wanted to say something to Dean, but decided against it. The four students filed out and Sam watched them go, still gently taking care of Dean's wounds. When the door shut behind them, he turned back to his brother. Dean didn't look like he was in any condition to explain… but then again he hadn't been in any condition to do much of anything since Sam had gotten there. Swallowing his nervousness and schooling his face into a serene expression, Sam asked, "Can you tell me what Cas was doing in your head, Dean? What did he want? And how did you get away?"

Dean sighed, a flicker of unease running through his stomach. He wanted to flinch his hands away from Sam's touch, but they were still constrained. Taking a deep breath, he said softly, "I think you already know what Castiel and I were doing in my head, Sam." He wanted to take the words back as soon as he said them because he didn't want to talk to Sam at all, didn't want his concern or his nursing, didn't want the pain that Sam tried to hide every time he looked at Dean.

It was Sam's turn to keep from flinching. Yeah, he did have a pretty good idea. But as much as he wanted to just let his brother be, he somehow knew that forcing Dean to think was a good thing. So Sam kept his eyes down and his voice steady as he replied, "All right, fair enough. Then why did you try to get away?"

Dean shrugged and shook his head. "The hand helped," he said, fluttering his fingers and instantly regretting it as the action shifted the burned skin. "I remembered that he wasn't Cas." He didn't want to talk about this. "Are you going to take off the cuffs?" They were chafing the cuts on his wrists from struggling.

Sam chewed on his lip, thinking. Dean might have broken away from Cas this time, but once he fell asleep again his mind would be open to the angel once more. Sam wasn't an idiot, and he didn't want to wake up to find Cas inside because Dean had let him in after another dream session. But he was also aware that if Dean was going to start getting better, he was going to have to know that Sam trusted him. Sam's eyes drifted over Dean's shoulder and fell on the duffle bag by the door. If he could, if there was a chance... Setting Dean's hand down gently, Sam got up and walked across the room to rummage in the bag. At the very bottom he found them, small packets of dry herbs, and he let out a triumphant exclamation. "Yeah," he answered, coming back over to Dean. "Yeah, Dean, we can let you go as long as you promise to wear the hex bag I'm making you. It'll keep Cas from messing with your dreams again, okay?" Carefully Sam began mixing the appropriate ingredients. As an afterthought, he made five extras, setting them to one side. If Cas couldn't get to Dean he might try one of the others, so it was better to be safe than sorry.

"You're not afraid I'll try to leave?" Dean whispered, half-hoping Sam wouldn't notice. "Because, Sam, I... I didn't _dislike_—" His throat tightened and he fell silent, face crimson even though he wasn't sure why he was ashamed. He also didn't know why he was telling his brother he might leave. It didn't make sense. Returning to Castiel would be much easier without Sam constantly keeping Dean restrained. He blinked back tears and put his head back to look at the ceiling instead of his brother. He felt unclean. Dirty. Wrong. He shouldn't feel that way, he reminded himself. Castiel made him pure.

Sam paused and gave Dean a searching stare. "Well, I know you might want to go," he responded slowly, wondering how best to put it. Dean's stuttering admission made him feel faintly sick, but not because of Dean. Because of Cas, and the idea that the angel would ever think that was okay. "Do you think I should keep you cuffed?" Not that Sam really would make his brother stay cuffed with his wrists in shreds, but he wanted to know how Dean would answer. If Dean was really doing a better job of keeping it together now, he should realize the danger he was in, at least a little, right? Which meant that hopefully he'd say something about wanting to stay. Or at least not wanting Cas.

Dean continued chewing his lip and tried to figure out what he wanted. To stay with Sam? Not really. To go to Castiel? His heart leapt, but then an inexplicable sorrow swamped him. The feeling was suffocating, overwhelming, and he wanted to run from it, grab his car, turn up the radio, and fly down I-95. Anything to get away from himself. But some part of him knew that he wasn't up for that, and he hated himself for it. "I wanna shower, Sam," he said at last, not answering the question.

Sam sighed and then smiled at Dean. At least he was being honest. And not screaming for Castiel as though he would die without him. "All right, man, we can do that. Let me get you out of those cuffs." Sam quickly popped the cuffs off Dean's wrists first, wincing when he saw how deep they had actually cut. Next Sam bent to unlock the ankle restraints, half expecting Dean to try and kick him in the head and run. He wasn't sure why he was trusting Dean so much now, but he had the feeling that _something_ had changed in the last twenty minutes. Maybe they were gonna find a way out of this after all. The key clicked in the second lock and Sam tensed slightly in spite of himself. If Dean was going to attack, now would be the time.

With his wrists free, Dean drew his arms in close to his body and hugged himself. He closed his eyes while Sam unlocked the ankle restraints, but blinked them open when both legs were free. He met his brother's eyes, then looked down and sighed. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said, slowly lifting himself to his feet. The blanket fell in a crumpled heap at his feet, and neither he nor Sam bothered to pick it up. "You shouldn't be here."

"Where the hell else should I be? You've taken care of me my whole life Dean; I'm allowed to return the favor." Sam stood quickly, feeling irrationally comforted by Dean's calm. "And we aren't having this conversation right now," he added firmly as Dean opened his mouth to protest. "Right now we're getting you a shower. Come on, let's go ask Clem where the bathroom is." Sam kept a steadying hand hovering just behind Dean's back as the two of them made their way over to the kids' room. Sam knocked gently then poked his head in. "Hey, you guys got a shower in here? Dean's looking to clean up a little."

The kids were all awake, but were lying in the bunk beds that had been stacked there. The room was quiet as if they had been interrupted in the middle of an important conversation and were holding their breath for it to continue. Jenny sat up and said, "Down the hallway, on the right. There are some ratty towels that may or may not be clean in the closet just next to it. Check under the sink to see if anyone left soap or something, there normally is a bar or two."

They walked together in the way she suggested and Dean helped himself to a blue towel with frayed edges that smelled of dust. He held it tight against his chest and entered the bathroom.

Sam glanced around the bathroom, assuring himself that there were no windows. The only way Dean could get out was the way he came in, or by punching through the solid wooden wall. Sam rummaged under the sink and, sure enough, found a single bar of soap of questionable origin. Handing it to his brother, Sam hesitated. Normal Dean would kick his ass if Sam kept treating him like a kid, he knew. But normal Dean had left the building, and now his big brother was pretty much a kid anyway, so Sam decided it didn't matter. "I'm gonna be waiting just outside if you need me okay? Just call and I'll come right away." Sam backed out of the room and shut the door behind him, leaving his brother alone. Leaning against the wall opposite, he slid down into a sitting position and curled up, resting his forehead on his knees. Inside the bathroom he heard the water start and settled down with a sigh to wait for Dean to finish.

Between the frantic drive, and Cas showing up, and then Dean's dream, he hadn't had much time to process anything. Now that he did, he wasn't sure if it mattered. There was literally nothing he could do. Cas knew they were here, and that they had Dean, and he was no doubt biding his time until they tried to escape. And then he would… what? Kill them? From what Sam had heard tonight, the angel wouldn't kill Dean, though if Dean had the capacity he might wish he were dead. But Sam, and the kids? With a sinking feeling, Sam realized that he had led them all into a death trap. He hadn't been counting on Cas being able to find Dean; the fact that he had been able to was disturbing all on its own. And even if the angel did show up, Sam had been hanging onto the vague hope that it was all some kind of misunderstanding, that something else had broken his brother and Cas was just trying to help. And now they were in a cabin in the woods, playing the waiting game with a celestial monster that had no concept of time.

Even if they did manage to stop Cas—probably with an angel blade, seeing as the holy fire hadn't held him for long—there was every chance that Dean wasn't going to get better from this. Hell, it was even likely that Dean was stuck like this without some major angelic rewiring to put him back in working order. Sam couldn't even begin to know where to start looking for help; this wasn't exactly a common occurrence. So if Cas couldn't or wouldn't put Dean back together, Sam had to face the possibility that his brother would be like this permanently. With a soft exhale that wasn't quite a sob, Sam leaned his head back against the wall and covered his face with his hands.

}{

The water was cold at first, but it heated up all right as Dean kept testing it with one hand. He vaguely remembered taking a shower earlier in the day, but he was too filthy to wait until tomorrow morning. Discarding the garments that weren't his, he called to his brother, "I'm gonna need new clothes, Sammy." Dean wondered if Sam would leave the door to go get them, but a moment later he heard his brother calling to the kids in the other room. So he couldn't sneak out. Disappointment warred with a muddled sense of relief, and Dean got into the shower.

It smelled slightly of mildew, but Dean didn't really mind. He had soap, he had water. He could be clean. And so he scrubbed himself with the bar, hard, like he meant to sandpaper off his skin instead of bathe. His face, his hair, his ears, all the way up and down his body, even his chafed wrists and his burnt hand, which he brutally put under the hot water and felt the pain thick and sweet. The humidity stuffed up the little room and he drank air rather than breathed it.

He still wasn't clean, but he was tired, so he sat with his feet toward the drain. The droplets bounced off his knees and into his eyes, and he had to close them against the spray so that the water trailed down his face like tears. He thought of Castiel, of his hands on his body, and made a soft sound of pleasure. Then he felt slightly sick to his stomach.

The water falling from such a height was making him feel numb and the warmth relaxed him. He wished he could sleep here, hidden from view and surrounded by the white noise of the shower. He could, he realized. Once he fell back asleep, Castiel would be there, and they would pick up where Sam had stopped them, and—

Dean sat bolt upright, stomach churning, knees shaking, and pressed his face to his knees. "Sam!" he cried before he could help himself.

When he heard Dean call him, Sam didn't _quite_ kick down the door. Slamming into the room, which was overwhelmingly steamy, Sam pulled back the shower curtain—Dean could bitch about privacy later—and saw Dean sitting on the floor of the tub, naked and shaking, with the water still plastering his hair flat to his head. Sam retrieved Dean's clothes from the hallway and balanced them on the sink, closing the door behind him. Kneeling at the side of the tub, he turned the water off. Dean didn't move, and Sam didn't try to touch him. He wasn't sure if this was a panic attack or something else, but he knew enough to let his brother have some space, even if it wasn't regular anxiety. "What happened, Dean?" he asked as gently as he could.

When he called Sam, Dean had wanted the shower curtain to hide himself from Sam so that he wouldn't see Sam's expressions and Sam wouldn't see him. And he'd wanted the water on, to mute the sound of their voices from each other. But he needed Sam, so he didn't say any of this. His brother wouldn't understand anyways.

"Was it Cas?" Sam asked cautiously, and Dean wanted to yell at him and say that Cas was gone; why couldn't Sam understand that?

Then he paused. Sam wouldn't lie, and he kept saying that Cas was here. What if he was? The dread that filled Dean at the thought was paralyzing, but he kept his knees against his eyes and said hesitantly, voice shaking, "Do you think that Cas is still in him somewhere? Or is it just Castiel? Or are they the same person?"

Sam hesitated. He wanted Cas to be in there, wanted it very badly. But Sam couldn't forget the burning white eyes at the window, the way whatever it was had trapped Dean in his head and… If their angel was still in there, he was buried deep. Maybe further down than he and Dean could ever hope to reach. "They aren't the same," Sam answered finally. "Our Cas, the _real_ Cas, he wouldn't have done any of this to us. He wouldn't have done it to you. And if our Cas is still in there, I promise I'll do my best to get him out." Sam scooped up the towel from the floor and tentatively held it out to Dean. "For now, why don't you dry off, and we'll get you clothes and a hex bag, and let you sleep. Sound good?"

Dean took the towel and draped it over himself, but didn't stand yet. "Sam? I—" He held his breath briefly to keep from sobbing, rubbed his face with the corner of the towel, then spoke with his voice muffled by the fabric and his hands. "I'm afraid that I hurt Cas." He flitted his eyes to glance at Sam for an instant, then looked away at the discolored floor of the tub. "Because if Cas is still in there, and me and Castiel…" He cleared his throat. "Even if it was in my head, it was real. Cas didn't say yes to that." He couldn't look at Sam. Couldn't look and wouldn't look because he was so ashamed, and he wished he could die, and now he could vaguely remember the awkward angel he loved so much, could remember him coming to Maine to take care of him on the last of his Grace simply because he'd had a nightmare. He could remember catching Raphael with him, talking about absent fathers who had hated their jobs at the post office, calling him when he needed help. He remembered his shadowed wings and the feel of his hand, comforting in the worst of situations, on his shoulder. He would never forgive himself if he hurt him. The nausea rose in his stomach again and he wondered why this hadn't occurred to him before, when he was dreaming. _Because they're the same person._ He shuddered because the thought was too terrible.

Why?

He belonged to Castiel. It should only please him if Cas was Castiel.

And if he wasn't, well, nothing mattered but Castiel.

_No,_ part of him insisted stubbornly. _Cas mattered because he was _Cas_._ He didn't understand what that meant. He wished he could just sleep, sleep and talk to Castiel and worship him and not have to deal with this doubt.

Sam blinked, taken by surprise, but then anger built inside him. His gut reaction was to take Dean and shake him, to yell in his face that Dean shouldn't be worried about hurting Cas, because Cas had hurt him first and it wasn't Dean's fault, and dammit why did Dean have to blame himself for things he had no control over? But Sam suppressed the urge, staring at a mold spot on the ceiling until he felt like he was thinking rationally, could speak rationally.

"You didn't hurt him, Dean," Sam answered quietly. Without his frustration to hold him up he sagged like a sail with no wind behind it. He was tired, Dean was tired, and they both just needed to sleep. Sam stood and rubbed a hand across his face. "Look, I'm gonna go out there, and when you're all ready and dressed we can get the hex bags and find a real place to sleep." He walked to the door, took one last glance behind him at Dean, still sitting in the tub, and paused. His brother was a grown man and he could dress himself, but Sam couldn't stop the question from slipping out anyway. "Do you need any help?"

Dean shook his head and Sam left the room. Sam's reply hadn't convinced him, and he wanted to let the bathtub fill with water and then breath it all into his lungs, feel its burn and the panic of airlessness before his mind faded into blue oblivion and he was gone. But Castiel would just bring him back. Bring him back and be angry, and Dean was not brave enough to go through with death if it might mean he'd be revived and have to deal with the consequences. So he stood, dried himself with the towel, and then pulled on the clothes. Sam's clothes. He left the towel hanging from a hook and moved Andy's tee shirt and sweatpants to the corner of the room with his foot. Then he left the bathroom, free arm drawn protectively across his stomach.

Sam looked up when Dean came out, and his throat closed a bit at the sight of his brother wearing Sam's too-big clothes. Plaid flannel, of course, and any other time his brother would have made a joke about it, but now Dean just stood there looking lost. Sam stood with the handful of hex bags he had made, looping leather cord around one of the little sachets and slipping it over his head, then doing the same for a second one.

"Here," he said, offering it to Dean. "This should let you sleep… uninterrupted. And I bet there's another bedroom in here somewhere, so we don't have to fight over the couch." Sam smiled weakly at Dean, wishing for his old brother back, just for a second, even if it was some overused wisecrack about how tall Sam was.

Dean saw at the expression on his brother's face and froze. "You promised before you came that you wouldn't look at me like that."

Sam stilled in response to his brother's words. "Look at you like what, Dean?"

Dean tugged on the sleeves of the soft flannel and stared at the floor. "You promised you wouldn't look at me like I don't exist. Don't you remember?" he accused, glaring at Sam for a split second before looking away.

"No, hey, Dean, c'mon. I do remember, and I'm not looking at you like you don't exist." Sam wasn't sure what Dean meant, and it both worried and frustrated him. He wasn't sure what Dean meant a lot of the time recently.

"Yes, you are! I'm right here, Sam, but you look at me like you're looking for someone else. But this is me. I'm right _here_."

Sam's heart clenched. "I'm sorry, Dean. I know you're here, I do. I'm just…" Sam fell silent. Dean's eyes were on him again, hurt and anxious, and his words were making no difference. He didn't know what else to say, and all he really wanted to do was hug his brother to make up for his useless reassurances, but he didn't know if it would soothe Dean or just make it worse. He decided it didn't matter and wrapped his arms around his brother, holding him tightly. "I'm just trying to figure out how to fix this," he whispered over Dean's head.

Dean crumpled slightly as Sam hugged him, squeezing his eyes shut and hesitantly bringing his arms up around Sam in return because Sam was warm and whole and something solid to hang onto. He didn't say anything, though, just exhaled and then ended the hug. Hesitantly, he took the hex bag Sam offered him and hung it around his neck, feeling its weight intimately, as if it were a visible sin rather than a ward of protection.

When Dean willingly slipped his hex bag over his head, Sam relaxed marginally. He had been half afraid he would have to tie it to his brother. "Thank you, Dean." Sam spoke so quietly that he wasn't sure his brother heard, but it didn't matter. Raising his voice, he continued, "We should go give the other ones to the kids, and then we can get some rest."

Dean silently followed Sam as he handed off the hex bags to the kids. He could feel them looking at him and he looked back, face blank. One hand curled into Sam's sleeve, and Dean couldn't bring himself to let go.

Sam felt Dean take hold of his sleeve and didn't dislodge him, not while he was talking and not while they were walking down the connecting hall to the other bedroom. Only when they got into the room and Sam saw the two beds did he pull away, turning to face his brother. "Hey Dean, I want you to share a bed with me tonight okay? So I can make sure you're safe." Sam smiled a little, reassuringly. "It would make me feel better." Sam was telling the truth; having Dean at his side would help him sleep better. And if the reason was because Sam wanted to make sure that his brother didn't sneak off, well. No one could blame him for being careful.

"Like hell I'm sharing a bed with you," Dean growled, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm not a freaking toddler, Sam, and I don't need you to treat me like one." Besides, Sam was tired, and Dean didn't want to wake him if he had that repeating nightmare again. _When_ he had it, because he would, he was sure, and then Sam would wake up if they were in the same bed and keep asking Dean if he was okay, and Dean had no answer to that. Even so…he didn't want to be alone.

"Come on, Dean, don't be ridiculous." It was hard for Sam to sound stern when he was fighting a ridiculous urge to smile. Dean was putting up a fight now. "I'm just worried about you, all right? You slept better before when I was holding your hand." Sam ran his fingers through his hair distractedly, then gasped. "Shit, your hands!" He grabbed Dean's arm and tugged the sleeve of the flannel back to reveal the raw wounds, made worse by the over-hot shower. "I'm gonna go get more bandages, okay? Just stay right here until I get back." After a quick glance to reassure himself that the window was too small for Dean to climb out of, he bounded from the room, over-long legs taking him away at twice normal walking pace.

Dean sighed and sat on the edge of one of the beds as his brother ran off. He didn't particularly care about his chafed wrists and burned hand. The flannel had been irritating them, but he hadn't minded. Now, he peered at the wounds. Then poked his thumbnail into the cut on his left wrist and bent his head back as the pain intensified. When he stopped pressing, the world was a little clearer around him, and a few of the fragile scabs that had formed split. He went to do the same to his other wrist, wary of Sam coming back into the room.

Sam found more bandages—thank goodness the first aid kit had made it in from the car before they went into lockdown—and hurried back to the room. Just before he entered, he heard a soft sound that made him pause. A sigh, one of relief but also one that shook with pain ever so slightly. Alarmed, Sam rounded the doorway just in time to catch Dean hiding his hands behind his back and whipping his head towards the door with a guilty look on his face.

"Dean?" Sam approached cautiously, studying his brother's expression. "You okay?" When Dean didn't reply, Sam put the bandages down next to him. "Can I see your wrists now?" Dean shook his head, and Sam frowned. "Dean, come on. I just want to wrap them up."

Dean's stomach turned and he glanced away from his brother. It had been stupid to do that right before Sam was going to put bandages over the cuts. He didn't want to show Sam, didn't want to see the disappointment on his face, but he knew that he didn't really have a choice. Slowly, he brought his arms around front and held them out for Sam to inspect. Biting his lip, Dean watched his brother carefully, waiting for the hurt that he was sure would appear on his face.

Dean's wrists had been rubbed raw by the cuffs, but that wasn't what made Sam slowly close his eyes and swallow. The shredded skin had been marred afresh in several places on each wrist, beads of blood seeping out of the cracked scabs. The wounds were matched by the ruby clots under Dean's thumbnails, small streaks of blood crisscrossing the knuckles. Sam dropped onto the bed beside his brother and settled one wrist in his lap so that he could get the bandages on easier. Keeping his eyes on his work, because he had promised not to look at Dean that way, Sam asked "Why, Dean?"

Dean sighed because Sam asked too many questions and didn't like any of the answers. Even when they were true. He let his brother wrap up his arm and watched him work. There was a concentration, a pain across Sam's forehead and in the tightness of his shoulders, and though he didn't look at Dean at all, Dean could feel how every ounce of his brother's attention was focused on him. It made him uneasy. He licked his dry lips before he spoke. "It makes things clearer."

"It shouldn't. It isn't good for you, man!" His voice was soft and pained, and as much as he told himself not to be scared and angry, that it would only make Dean scared and angry, he couldn't help himself. Sam was at a loss. He didn't know how to deal with Dean like this, didn't have any idea what he was supposed to do about it. He just tried to keep his focus on Dean's arms, finishing the first wrist and starting on the one with the burn. "Dean, you've got to get yourself together. You can't stay like this."

"Dammit, Sam, I'm doing my best," Dean said because Sam was freaking out and Sam wasn't supposed to freak out, not now, not because of Dean. "You don't understand, I need something to hold onto and I haven't got much right now. I just wanna go and find Castiel but I'm trying so damn hard for you, you have no idea." His voice broke slightly and even though he tried not to, he cried anyways. Just a little, and he wiped the tears away from his eyes with his freshly bandaged wrist. "Don't you be mad at me. Please."

Sam finished dressing the burn and pulled his brother into a hug. "I'm not mad at you, Dean; I know you're trying." Sam murmured, swallowing down his own tears that threatened to overwhelm him. Every conversation Sam had with Dean only reminded him how far gone his brother really was. "And I know you need something to hold onto, but that needs to be me, okay?" Sam curled his fists in the back of Dean's borrowed shirt and shook him gently. Just like Dean had done for him months ago, he tried to ground his brother in reality as best he could. "You hold onto me, and you hold onto those kids we've got to take care of, and you hold onto that damn car of yours that I had to hotwire to get down here. You don't hold onto the pain."

"You hotwired my car?"

Sam laughed and hoped it didn't sound like a sob. "I had to, man. You would rather I left it at that shady motel?" Part of him was waiting for Dean to pull away from the hug, and part of him wished he never would.

Dean hesitantly leaned into Sam's hug, one hand finding its way around his brother. "That wasn't a shady motel, it was my freaking apartment, Sam. I live there."

"You sure? It looked pretty shady to me."

"Well, I'm sorry that I can't afford prime real estate, Sam." He sighed against his brother and couldn't decide if he should end the hug or not. "Listen, Sammy," he said, voice low now. "I'm holding onto you, okay?" Now he pulled away from his brother, tried to look him in the eye and ignore the constant nagging in the back of his head that he should be somewhere else, somewhere with Castiel.

"Good." Sam met Dean's gaze and smiled, his first genuine smile since Clem had called. "So what about going to sleep now, huh? You okay with sharing?"

Dean thought about Sam's hurt and scared voice from before, about the way he didn't look at Dean when he bandaged up his wrists, about him barreling into the bathroom when Dean called him, about him holding his hand when he fell asleep shackled to the chair. He sighed. "Fine." Then he paused and looked at Sam, a wave of anxiety going through him. "What if I have my bad dream again?"

"Bad dream? What bad dream?" Sam squeezed his brother's hand reassuringly. "Cas won't bother you again, remember?"

Dean shook his head wildly. "No, not Cas. Not Castiel either." He stared pleadingly at his brother. "I keep having the dream and it won't go away."

"What's it about?" Belatedly, Sam realized that asking Dean the contents of his nightmare just before he slept might not be the best idea.

With a half-sob, Dean tugged his hand out of Sam's and wrapped his arms around himself. "It's so real," he whispered.

"It's not, Dean. It's just a dream, it can't hurt you." Sam bit his lip, remembering what had happened to Dean earlier. "I won't let it hurt you," he amended.

"But I still had it even when Cas was there!" Even with the haziness of his memories, Dean knew that much. The thought of Cas rekindled his shame, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, forcing himself to calm down. He thought of Castiel, and he relaxed and reopened his eyes. If he had the dream again, Castiel would save him, surely.

"But I wasn't here. I promise I'll wake you up if you have a nightmare, Dean."

Dean bit his lip and nodded slightly. "Okay," he mumbled, looking down. The truth was, he didn't think he'd be able to wake up from it. Every time he'd had it, it had played out in its entirety before he woke, gasping and terrified. But Sam's presence was a comfort, and he could almost convince himself that maybe, _maybe_ Sam would be able to help him if he needed it.

"Don't worry," Sam told his brother, then paused. "You ready to sleep?" Dean half-nodded, half-shrugged, and Sam stood to let Dean get in first and then crawled in after him. There were a few seconds of awkward shuffling where both tall men tried to fit onto a single twin bed, then stillness. Sam stayed facing Dean, his nose almost buried in Dean's hair. Dean had his face to the wall and his back to Sam, but if he leaned up the younger Winchester could see the hex bag hanging around his brother's neck. This close, their combined body heat kept them warm, and they fell asleep the way they hadn't since they were children.


	8. Chapter 8

**Authors' Note:** I didn't think we could do it, but we did about the ending, next chunk was too big to include this chapter Enjoy, lovies!

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**Chapter 8**

**"The longer you think the less you know what to do." ~_Talking Bird_, Death Cab for Cutie**

Dean slept calmly, barely moving. The nightmare he'd been fighting the past few nights didn't disturb him, and neither did Castiel. It was just him, inhaling, exhaling, body still and untrembling, warm in the chilly room from Sam's closeness. The dreams he did have were lonely, grey, and howling, whirling past him like the wind outside. They brought snippets of his life that he couldn't remember back to his consciousness. His mother kissing his brow and then singing him to sleep. His father lying in a hospital bed, the monitors beeping slowly. Sharing a bottle of Johnnie Walker with Sam and Bobby after a hunt. Ash's hand sticking out of the ruins of the Roadhouse. Jo saying that she was going to spend her last night on earth with self-respect. Then she looked at him suddenly, eyes bright and alive, and said "Dean." A moment later Sam called his name, soft, and Lisa's voice joined the others', then Bobby's and his father's and Ellen's and Ben's and more and more voices, all saying his name again and again in a jumble of sound. Dean had no words to reply to them, not sure that it was really him they were calling. He curled up, and covered his ears, and the voices faded into a kind of desperate melancholy before he could find the courage to speak. He could feel himself decaying even though he knew he was asleep, that it wasn't real. When he woke, he was sure there would be only a skeleton in the bed where his whole body, flesh and blood and breath, had been before.

He blinked himself awake in the early hours of the morning, when the darkness in the sky wasn't so absolute. It was still snowing outside and the entire house was blanketed in silence. Sam was asleep beside him, face pressed into the pillow and brow marked with concern even in sleep. He looked vulnerable, childlike, and Dean felt a new wave of guilt rush through him. He wasn't supposed to be doing this to Sam. He was supposed to take care of _him_, not the other way around. As it was, Dean was making Sam deal with things that were too much to ask of a little brother. He wanted to smooth the wrinkles off Sam's troubled forehead with his thumb, to take Sam out to the Impala and drive him home so he could read his books and take his tests and be happy instead of being here and miserable.

Dean unwrapped one of his wrists and pressed his nail into it again because the world was fuzzy around him again. The lack within him was distracting, overwhelming. He wanted to be happy. Just for a few minutes. Careful not to get blood on himself, Dean re-bandaged. He was lonely, and even though Sam was right there next to him, it didn't help. He wanted to talk to someone because the feeling of wrongness was upon him again, the feeling that he had broken something precious and it was his fault and nothing would be the same. He thought of Cas. He thought of Castiel. He held his breath and laid back, taking the hex bag in both of his hands.

Everything was fading when he decided to breathe again, and when he did so he had to remind himself of the process. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale again. Each breath was a thought, a question, an option weighed in his mind.

Sam sighed and resettled beside him. Dean rolled onto his side, slung the blanket over his shoulder, and hesitantly removed the hex bag, untying the knot that kept the leather in a loop to be worn, putting it under him, and hoping if Sam noticed, he'd think Dean accidentally pulled it off while moving in his sleep.

He licked his dry lips, curled his hands against his chest, and closed his eyes. In a few moments he was asleep again.

}{

Castiel paced in the woods, mind whirling. The graceful sweep of death and rebirth around him was disrupted, stuttering. Trees blistered and warped into sharp points of petrified wood, providing slick perches for the birds that fell from the sky as their wings shed feathers and sprouted the membranes of bats. Despite the surrounding chaos, the angel's introspection was undisturbed. Try as he might, he couldn't forget the look on Dean's face as he accused Castiel of "not being Cas." It was ridiculous, of course. Castiel was Cas, had all the same memories, all the same experiences, all the same… Castiel frowned. There was something strange about his memories of Dean. The emotions associated with him were muddled, unclear.

Castiel's Grace swelled as he stopped moving, and his ruminations were interrupted by a shock of burning pain. The surrounding foliage crisped and blackened as his wings flashed into the physical world again, charring his surroundings. Castiel growled in frustration and forced them away, but they flared out again anyway. It was his Grace, he realized, though the rush of power in his being was making it difficult to think straight. He was exceeding not just the limits of his physical body, but his celestial one as well. It was uncomfortable and disturbing, and, in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the pressure, Castiel turned all the sparrows and blue birds into hawks and made the stream run with blood. The snow storm turned to rain and the rain into tiny silver droplets that rattled as they bounced off the stone trees and pooled on the ground, dissolving into the dirt after a moment. Finally, Castiel stopped himself, forced his wings away, and stood, shaking. This wasn't right; he should not have this power, and he should be able to control what little Grace he was entitled to.

Castiel shook his head, trying to focus. Dean. No matter what else was going on, what else had changed, Dean was still the most important thing in Castiel's life. He tried to find Dean's dreams but they were blocked, and the old anger reignited. He wanted his hunter, and for the third time that night he was being kept from him. Castiel needed to see Dean, he needed to make Dean explain himself. A noise attracted Castiel's attention and he glanced down to see a chipmunk floundering in the stream, viscous red fluid sticking to its body. He blinked and the stream was restored, the birds returned to their proper forms. The snow began to fall softly again around him as Castiel stood motionless thinking, Grace diminished to a tolerable level for now.

He sensed the moment Dean woke, and it made him sad that even the presence of his hunter was gone. Then he was angry because sorrow had no place with him now. Before the fury could make much headway it was pierced through with sharp shards of memory, flashes of all the times that he had been sad in the past few years, all the times he had felt alone. And then inexplicably he remembered Dean's lips, shaping a prayer to him. "Cas." The first time he had used the name, the angel had been affronted, shocked at so casual a nickname for himself. Now though Dean only called him Castiel. When had that changed? Castiel began pacing again. He needed to talk to Dean, needed Dean with him, so that Castiel could figure out what was going on. As long as he had Dean, it would all be fine.

The part of Castiel that was always looking for Dean sensed him entering the realms of dreams again, and this time he was unprotected. The dream that was more than a dream descended on the hunter almost at once, but Castiel did not allow it to play itself out this time. He flew to the heart of the dream, where Dean cowered in front of some other Castiel, and snatched his hunter away.

}{

The nightmare had started almost instantly and Dean shuddered in his sleep, trying desperately to get away its leaden grasp on his mind, but failing. The slaughtered bodies of the kids were before him again and the dream Castiel glowed with Grace, just about to burn out his eyes where he knelt, but then he felt someone grasp him tight and pull him away before Castiel's true form showed. The dream melted around him but he felt safe now, cradled and protected as the dream world reshaped itself from the bottom up, starting with asphalt, then rubber tires, then the body of the Impala all around them. He was in the front seat and the car was parked on the shoulder of a highway, other vehicles rolling past. And he was still close to his savior, who he now saw was Castiel, the real Castiel, so he smiled as his heart beat fast in his chest from fear or joy and he leaned to kiss him. Then stopped.

Castiel chose Dean's car as a setting for their conversation. It made Dean comfortable and Castiel wanted Dean to be comfortable. He wanted Dean to feel safe. He just… wanted Dean. Now that his hunter was with him again, Castiel's possessiveness rose, along with his sense of entitlement. He shifted closer as Dean leaned towards him, arms coming up to encircle his hunter. When Dean stopped Castiel continued the motion, gently planting a kiss on Dean's lips and cradling him closer to his chest. He had Dean now, and everything would be fine. Castiel frowned, remembering that he wanted to talk to Dean about something, but it was suddenly much more important to have Dean touching him, have the hunter there with him in this place. "I missed you, Dean," Castiel murmured into Dean's hair.

Dean let Castiel pull him sideways onto his lap and he sighed into the angel, the fear banished in favor of comfort. "I missed you too," he said. "So much." He put his head against Castiel's neck and relaxed against the arms the angel had around him. He was safe. There had been no reason for his earlier fear, for Sam's insistence on him using the hex bag. This was what he wanted. This was what he _needed_ because the nausea and the shame were fading away. He must have been wrong. This could very well be Cas after all. The number of times Cas had told him he missed him… He snuggled against the angel. He loved him.

Castiel rumbled happily and held Dean closer, letting him nuzzle into his neck. This was good, and Castiel wished they could just stay there. He wished they could have done this sooner but… the angel frowned, voice dropping to a more threatening growl. "Why couldn't I find you before, Dean? You were sleeping, but I couldn't reach you." Castiel's grip unconsciously tightened past comforting. He was angry again, and he didn't want to be, but Dean kept hiding from him and Castiel just wanted to keep Dean with him forever.

Dean flinched backward because suddenly this very clearly wasn't Cas, it was Castiel, and the change was jarring. Not that he didn't _want_ Castiel, of course he did, but the angel was being rough when Dean needed gentleness. "You're hurting me," he cried. He should do something. Should push Castiel away if he was causing him pain, should fight back. That's what Sam would want him to do. But Sam didn't understand because such actions were not possible; this was Castiel, and Castiel was still the universe, and he was made to be worshipped. Dean was being grossly deviant by offering him anything but docile adoration as it was. His childish protest humiliated him and he hung his head.

Castiel had to fight with himself to let Dean pull away. His instincts were threatening to overwhelm him again, screaming at him that Dean should not care if Castiel was hurting him as long as it made Castiel happy. The way that Dean hung his head after his outburst both pleased and terrified Castiel. The jagged shards of memory pricked at him again, and Castiel remembered that Dean wasn't supposed to be so submissive, that he was supposed to confront Castiel when he did something wrong. Except Castiel hadn't done anything wrong, because Dean was his to do with what he pleased. Eventually the angel settled for shifting his grip on Dean so that he was holding the man by the shoulders. It gave the hunter more space, but at the same time he wouldn't be able to pull away unless Castiel let him.

"Dean, earlier you said I was not Cas. What did you mean?" Castiel ducked his head until Dean looked him in the eyes. This was why he was here, he remembered. Not to have Dean, but to talk to him. To get answers from him. "Tell me what you meant," he repeated firmly.

Dean shook his head and broke eye contact with the angel. "You're Castiel," he said slowly, wanting to both please the angel and be honest. "You are good and perfect and almighty. You are everything. And I am unworthy of the attention you give me." He met Castiel's blue eyes hesitantly then glanced down at his lips, licking his own. He wanted so badly to kiss him right now, to make him overlook Dean's earlier transgression, to find forgiveness and forgetfulness against Castiel's skin.

When Castiel saw Dean lick his lips, he very nearly lost control. He wanted to hold Dean and run his hands over his body, and the fact that Dean clearly wanted the same made it difficult for Castiel to resist. But he couldn't forget that Dean hadn't answered his question. And his rising lust was not quite strong enough to mask Castiel's growing feeling that something was not right about Dean.

"Is Castiel the same as Cas?" he murmured, raising a hand to run his fingers through Dean's hair.

Dean fluttered his eyes shut and let Castiel pet him. It was a soothing feeling, but it didn't calm the discomfort in his stomach. He didn't want to say no because he was afraid it would hurt Castiel, and he could never do that. But he had to tell the truth. The angel had already asked him twice, and his evasions were now bordering on disobedience. And disobedience was bad. But so was disloyalty. So he wavered on what to do, playing with his hands in front of him. "No," he said at last. "You are Castiel. Cas is gone." He thought of Sam saying that if Cas was still in the angel somewhere, they'd get him back. And he felt slightly ill at the thought because he needed Castiel, not Cas.

Castiel frowned, hand stilling in Dean's hair. Dean's words upset him, more than he would like to admit. He didn't understand, and it would be so easy to just kiss Dean's answer away, make it not matter. "Dean, why am I not Cas?"

Dean gauged Castiel's tone, his body language. There wasn't anger there, yet, just some sort of pained confusion. And he was asking questions again, questions Dean did not want to answer, questions he didn't know the true answer to. Castiel's hand was heavy on Dean's head. He thought about the change from Cas to Castiel. From Dean Winchester to… whatever echo he was now. The realization tore at his gut because he didn't want to be some shadow of himself, he didn't want to be broken, he didn't want to be obedient. He started slowly, compelled to truthfulness but feeling certain that he would incite Castiel's wrath upon himself. "You did something to me, Castiel." The words choked in his throat. "You changed me. But it was good that you did because I belong to you and I only want to please you. And I'm happier now because I have you and you are good and I want to be yours forever. But Cas would never. So you can't be him." He shifted on Castiel's lap, nervous and hoping that this was enough of an explanation for Castiel and that soon he would kiss him and they could forget they ever had this conversation. He licked his lips again, half out of anxiety.

Castiel had done something? The angel thought back, back to the time before he was strong and healthy again. He had come to Dean for something, that much he knew. And then he had awoken with his Grace restored. Flames flickered in Castiel's memory, hot and deadly.

"You trapped me in holy oil," he whispered, less to Dean and more to himself. "And I punished you for it." The act had been the last defiance of the old Dean, and in response Castiel had… no. He would never have done such a thing. But he had, hadn't he? Castiel had taken Dean and reshaped him to be more pleasing to his angel. He had… hurt Dean? No, Dean was unharmed but for the treatment he received at his brother's hands. Dean was happy to be with Castiel, and that was how it should be. It was better this way, it had to be this way.

Dean whimpered and clutched at Castiel's shirt. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He started to sob piteously. He only vaguely recalled what Castiel was talking about, but the very idea that he had rebelled was heartbreaking. He hated himself. "You were right to punish me; I don't deserve you."

The landscape outside flickered like pages being blown in the wind as Castiel's slowly replenishing Grace began to affect it. With the resurgence in power came surety, the knowledge that everything was as it should be. Castiel tugged Dean closer again and laid a gentle kiss on his forehead between his eyes. "Shh, Dean, don't cry," he crooned in Dean's ear. "It's all right; I forgive you. Do not worry about Cas or Castiel." As he had once before, he used his Grace to relax Dean, wrapping the hunter's dream self in layers of soft reassurance. "You can be mine forever, Dean, I promise."

The nervousness faded from Dean's body and he smiled, feeling contentment settle over him. He shifted so that he was straddling Castiel's lap instead of sitting across it and kissed him, then pulled away just a little so that their lips barely brushed and said, "Thank you." Castiel kissed him again, hands caressing down Dean's body. Dean laced his fingers through Castiel's dark hair and kissed him more passionately back. He needed this. The closeness, the care, even though Castiel's hands were growing rougher on his body, more demanding, and his lips left Dean's to suck bruises the skin on his neck and along his collarbone. He was happy. He wanted nothing more.

Then a flash of white light blinded him and Castiel was gone as if he'd never existed. Dean groped wildly for him in the nothingness, panic tight in his chest, and he cried out his name. There was no reply, so Dean ran through the whiteness, desperately trying to find the angel, tears streaming from his face because he needed Castiel, and Castiel wouldn't just leave him like that, so something must have happened to him. But he couldn't find him, and his absence crept like death into his bones and he awoke, cheeks wet from tears. Sam shifted beside him. He'd forgotten he was in bed with his brother, back to back with him now.

Dean's fingers reached for his neck and found the hex bag hanging from it once more. He sighed, wiping his eyes with his hand. If he took it off again, Sam wouldn't believe that it was an accident if he even did now. So he closed his eyes tight and tried to fall asleep again without letting his brother know that he was crying.

}{

Sam's sleep was restless after he woke to find Dean's hex bag missing, and in the early hours of the morning he finally reached the point where he couldn't fall asleep again. After checking to make sure Dean's hex bag was still in place, Sam carefully rolled out of bed. He stood for a moment, looking down at Dean, who was curled up against the wall like a scared child. Sam sighed at the unneeded reminder that something was wrong with Dean, and considered shaking him awake. But he couldn't bear to disrupt the little peaceful sleep that Dean had found, so instead he backed quietly out of the room and padded down the hall towards the other bedroom. He wanted to peek in on the kids and make sure they were all right. It had been a very long night.

When the door creaked as Sam left, Dean awoke and rolled onto his back, staring at the white ceiling. He could hear his brother engaged in some conversation with the kids in the room next door.

Dean missed Castiel. Painfully. And to have been torn away from him so thoughtlessly last night, without even a chance to say goodbye, hurt him deeply. His fingers flicked to the bandage on his arm and he almost started unwrapping it when he remembered the sigils painted on the window. The sigils keeping Castiel out.

Scooting out of bed, Dean placed his bare feet on the floor and stepped over to the window. He looked out over the freshly fallen snow that muffled the land, searching for Castiel in the quiet stillness. When he failed to find him, he clenched his jaw and rubbed at the sigil painted on the glass. "Dammit," he whispered when it didn't rub off easily, and then began scratching at the glass with his nails, paint chips floating down from the sigil like red confetti. He had to do better than this. Doubling his speed, Dean used both hands, mutilating the sigil. He couldn't remember how much of it had to be destroyed before it wouldn't keep Castiel out anymore, so he just kept working, kept focused.

_I'm letting you in,_ he prayed, knowing that Castiel would hear. _Please come. I need you. Please, please._

}{

Castiel was torn from Dean unceremoniously, thrown into the abyss of dreamless human sleep without warning. He hung for a moment, lost and confused, before reason reasserted itself. Dean was still there, Castiel could feel him, but once more there was a barrier around his mind. Some construct of Sam's, no doubt, and he had a sudden urge to fly back to the cabin and raze it to the ground, sigils or no. Dean would be inside, but Castiel could heal him. Bring him back, if need be.

Castiel returned to his physical body and spread his wings, Grace crackling furiously around him. A blast of power radiated from him, flattening the closer shrubs and small trees. The action reminded him unexpectedly of the way the trees around Dean's grave had looked when Castiel had raised him from perdition, and the angel paused. He remembered that he had once found the very idea of bringing Dean back to life being awesome and terrifying, and he wondered what had changed. His Grace rolled within him, vast and infinite and demanding that he act, and Castiel whimpered softly before he realized what he was doing. It wasn't supposed to feel like this, but it also felt good to be strong and the angel didn't know how to handle it.

He laid his hand against a tree trunk and the bare branches sprang to life, buds and leaves unfurling in delicate sprigs of precious metals and jewels. In a matter of moments, the new growths began to drop off like ripe fruits. Ruby and sapphire leaves shot with veins of silver clattered to the ground amid gleaming opal berries twined with stems of gold. It was beautiful, unnatural, and difficult, and Castiel felt a pang of relief mixed with loss as the flood of Grace ebbed again. At the same time he heard, clear as a bell, Dean's prayer. Sam must have left him alone, and the hunter was trying to help his angel. Castiel's face lit with a smile that could have brought a city to its knees before him. He would have Dean back, and soon. The angel spread his wings, which were once more smooth and unmarred by errant bursts of Grace, and flew towards the source of Dean's prayer.


	9. Chapter 9

**Authors' Note:** A bit late again, sorry! Nice, long chapter though :) Please don't forget to review if you liked it! or if you hated it! or if you even read it! I'm a comment whore!

* * *

**Chapter 9**

**"My boyfriend's back and you're gonna be in trouble." ~****_My Boyfriend's Back_****, The Angels**

After talking to the kids and making sure they were all right, Sam made his way to the front room and rooted around in his bag to see what supplies he had handy. He found a small flask of holy oil, hardly enough to draw a circle with, but it went into his pocket anyway. He found Ruby's knife, which went on his hip even though he knew it wouldn't make Cas bat an eyelash. Maybe it was a security blanket. Then he saw cool silver glinting at the bottom of the bag. The angel blade; he had almost forgotten about it. Sam closed his fingers around the hilt, feeling its unearthly chill against his skin. He didn't want to use it, he didn't even want to _consider _using it, but… Sam stood with a sigh and carried the weapon over to the sofa. He grabbed his jacket from the end, shrugged into it, and tucked the blade into the loop on the inside of his coat, ready to be drawn if necessary. Then he returned to his room to see how Dean was. The first thing Sam saw was the empty bed, and then his eyes went to the window. The sigil had been chipped off in places, and Dean was still attacking it with his bare hands.

"Dean, no!" he yelled, crossing the room in three quick steps and wrapping his arms around Dean's shoulders, trapping his upper arms and wrestling him back from the glass. His brother's hands were covered in flakes of paint like tiny drops of blood, and the Enochian on the windowpane was badly damaged. "What the hell are you doing?" Sam demanded, but he already knew. He had been an idiot, assuming that Dean's complacency the night before had meant he was getting better, and now they were going to pay for it. He held his breath, hoping against hope that the wards were still working, that Dean hadn't damaged them to the point of uselessness.

"Get the _hell _off me," Dean said, voice catching and raising in pitch like a hysterical child as he struggled with his brother. He stared desperately at the sigil, hoping he'd done enough. "You don't understand, Sam, I need him. I've got to be with him, please." _Sam stopped me and I don't know if I did enough, but please, please…_

Sam's arms were heavy around him, confining, but when Castiel arrived, he would be able to take Dean away without any trouble. Dean kept struggling, though, because maybe, if he could get away, he would be able to damage the sigil further, if it wasn't broken already. He held his breath. Castiel should be here by now if the house was unwarded. But… What if the reason he wasn't here didn't have to do with the sigil? What if he didn't want to come? What if he didn't want Dean anymore? Tears rose to Dean's eyes but he fought them back down, remembering Castiel's promise that Dean could be his forever. It gave him hope. Castiel would be here if he could get here. So that meant that the window was still keeping him out.

Without warning, Dean drove his heel into Sam's foot, praying it would be enough of a shock that he could get free. It was, and without hesitating Dean ran up and slammed his elbow into the glass, cracking it. Sam was coming after him again, but Dean managed to wind up and deliver one more blow, putting all his desperation and longing into it. The pane shattered, shards scraping his skin through the flannel and showering down on his head and shoulders. "Castiel!" Dean cried triumphantly, even as Sam grabbed him and started to haul him towards the door.

And then there was Castiel, the angel who he belonged to, right before him and the upset tears that had gathered in his eyes before spilled over in happiness and relief. Castiel, right in front of him, real and physical and not just a dream. He wrenched at Sam's hold in desperation because _god_, he wanted nothing more than to run to Castiel and collapse into his arms and feel whole again. "You came," he whispered.

Castiel saw Dean and smiled widely, his whole being filling with joy. The feeling did not diminish even when he saw Sam trying desperately to drag Dean away, because there was nothing the hunter could do now. Castiel was here and he was going to rescue Dean.

"I always come when you call, Dean," Castiel answered, and now his smile did falter slightly, because he had said those words before, in a different time, with different emotions in them. As though it had been waiting for an opportunity to strike, memory crashed down on him. _Stand behind me, the one time I ask_. And the hunter's angry retort: _Go back to Crowley and tell him I said you can both kiss my ass. _Only it hadn't been the last time Cas had asked Dean to stand behind him, and in the end it had been a terrible mistake. One spark of insight burned clearly in his mind: Dean had refused to obey him, and it had saved his life. The angel cocked his head to one side, searching Dean's face for some trace of that defiance, and found only adoration and a desperate longing that made Castiel feel powerful and scared at the same time. Would Dean stand up to him like that again if he had to? Castiel wondered suddenly. Then, on the heels of that thought—had he already?

Dean could feel Sam's grip on him tighten and he would have been angry if he hadn't been so damn happy. Sam was yelling in his ear, though, shouting some nonsense about Castiel hurting Dean, but Dean didn't really notice his words. He just smiled through his tears and relaxed completely. Castiel would take him away in another moment; he had no need to continue fighting against his brother.

Someone opened the door to the bedroom, entered, and more people grabbed at him, but Dean didn't even look back as Sam started speaking urgently to them too because none of this mattered, none of this mattered at all. Castiel was here.

"Dammit, Dean, no! I'm not gonna let him hurt you!" Sam's words had no effect on Dean, did nothing to stop the blissful grin that spread across his brother's face as Dean relaxed—_relaxed_—in Sam's arms, sure that he was about to be taken away. Behind them the door burst open and Sam heard Andy curse under his breath. Time seemed to slow down and then speed up past normal as Sam made a decision.

"Take Dean and stay back," he ordered, pushing his unresisting brother at them. "You're gonna get hurt if you try to get involved, just… just hold him okay?" Sam whirled back, half expecting Cas to be in his face and about to smite him, but the angel hadn't moved. He was standing where he had landed, same trenchcoat, same clear blue eyes, same curious head tilt as usual. But Sam didn't trust the façade, because less than twelve hours ago this thing had raped Dean inside his own dreams, and that wasn't something that just went away with time.

"Stay back!" Sam planted himself between the angel and the kids who were sheltering Dean. "If the real Cas is in there I don't want to hurt you, man, but you're seriously messed up right now and you can't have Dean." He let his hand creep up to the lining of his jacket, ready to draw the angel blade. He _didn't _want to hurt Cas, but he wasn't going to let Dean go without a fight either.

Castiel did not move as Sam threatened him, or when the hunter physically put himself between the angel and Dean. He was still processing his emotions, trying to figure out what it was that was wrong. Was it Dean? Was it himself? Sam's words brought his attention back to the present, and he frowned.

"You as well?" he asked, displeasure coloring his voice. "I _am _Cas, I have said this before." His frown deepened. "And I am not 'messed up,' Sam. I just want what is mine. Besides, your brother wants me to take him away. He prayed for this." Another slice of memory. _He's a devout man, he actually prayed for this_. Some of the first words he said to Dean. Castiel shook his head impatiently. He didn't want to think about such moments, not now. Now things were different. Castiel was better than ever, and this wasn't a vessel; it was _his_ body.

Angels were not supposed to have bodies like this, but Castiel did, because he had Fallen. He had Fallen and lost his Grace and been trapped.

But… his Grace had been restored. How?

Castiel's gaze flickered rapidly around the room until it landed on Dean, anchoring him. Yes, Dean was what was important now, not the useless clashing of thoughts that plagued Castiel.

"I'm taking Dean," the angel repeated, stepping forward. "Do not try to stop me."

"I said keep away!" Sam snarled, drawing the blade from within his coat. The angel pulled up short, staring at it, and Sam made no move to attack. "Look, just… we're trying to fix all of this but you can't take Dean because it's not good for either of you. Come on, you've gotta know that there's something wrong with this! Our Cas wouldn't ever have done what you've been doing."

Sam didn't know why he was trying so hard to talk Cas out of this. Maybe it was the fear that if the angel really decided to kill them there wasn't a damn thing Sam could do about it. Maybe it was the faintest hint of genuine confusion in the angel's eyes, eyes that were no longer washed white with power. Maybe it was the knowledge that neither Dean, the old one or this facsimile that Cas had created, would ever forgive him if Cas died. Whatever it was it kept Sam from striking out immediately, kept him from trying the easy solution.

"No!" Dean elbowed Clem in the face, clipped Andy in the underside of his jaw, and jerked his body enough to free himself of the kids because _dammit_ nothing could hold him if Castiel was in trouble. He lunged for his brother, reaching with his hands to rip the blasphemous object away from him, but Sam held fast to it, shoving Dean away so that he stumbled backward a few steps. This time, Dean switched tactics and leapt at his brother, punching him in the face.

Dean may be confused, but not so much that he couldn't throw a good punch. Sam staggered back, vision swimming, one hand reaching out as if it could fend Dean off. The other still kept its death grip on the blade because Sam knew that if he lost it, he would be completely screwed.

"Stop, Dean, please!" Sam cried. He didn't care that he was begging; he just needed Dean to let him be, because Sam really didn't want to hit Dean when he was like this. It felt wrong somehow, almost as if he were hitting a kid. Dean didn't respond and didn't stop trying to disarm him, and Sam wondered for a moment if this was how he was going to go, beaten to a pulp by his brother and finished off by his best friend.

Castiel saw Dean attack and was filled with warmth, because his hunter was trying to protect him from the threat. But that heat turned to dread in an instant because this was fundamentally _wrong_ and Sam was Dean's brother and Dean should never want to kill his brother the way he did in that instant.

"Dean, stop!" he commanded, voice ringing across the room, freezing Dean mid swing, startling the children, who had begun to come to Sam's aid, and causing Sam to whip his head around and stare at him from an eye nearly swollen shut. "You mustn't hurt Sam."

Dean blinked. Lowered his fist. Looked back at Castiel just to check that he had understood. Castiel's face was drawn, blue eyes sad, and Dean flinched away from his brother, sick to his stomach because now he'd both hurt his brother and done something Castiel did not want. He was bad. Everything was blurry around him and he played with the edge of the bandage on his left wrist, trying to figure out what to do. Everyone was staring at Castiel, now, everyone except Dean, whose gaze flitted from Sam to Castiel to try to read the correct course of action. He couldn't figure it out, though, and so he looked at the floor. No one cared what he was doing as long as he was still, so he unwrapped the bandage and dug his nail into his wrist again. The pain washed over him and he closed his eyes briefly. That was better. Maybe he could think now. He opened his eyes and looked at his brother, his poor brother with his broken face. He didn't want to hurt Sammy.

Sam just stared at the angel, taking deep, painful breaths that tugged at his damaged face. Cas had… saved him? And now he was just watching Sam with a horrible stare, like he was confused but didn't know why, and…

"Dean!" Clem's voice cut through Sam's daze, and he turned to see her grabbing at Dean's hands, forcing them apart. "Please don't." Clem sounded like she was about to cry. Her fingers fumbled with the loose bandage, wadding the hanging end up into a messy bunch and holding it over the wound to make it stop bleeding. She laced the fingers of her other hand through Dean's, ignoring the blood on his thumb.

"Dammit, Cas. Do you see that?" Sam pulled himself to his feet, careful not to make any threatening moves towards the angel. Not when it was apparently Cas's decision whether Dean would attack again. "He's hurting himself. Because of you. How does that make you feel, Cas? You did that to him!" Sam was practically screaming by now but he couldn't seem to make himself stop.

Dean let Clem take his hands without really paying any attention to her, still staring at the angel blade, but when Sam started yelling, he changed focus. Sam's words were painful and he was _blaming_ Castiel for something even though nothing was wrong and Dean shook his head, saying, "No, no, I'm not hurting myself, it makes it better," and "Castiel didn't do anything to me, he makes me happy, why are you saying these things, Sam? Stop, please stop saying that." He was overwhelmed and wanted to tug his hands free of Clem's to put his nail in his wrist again, but they didn't understand that he wasn't hurting himself so he didn't, just looked pleadingly between the angel and his brother.

Castiel recoiled at Sam's words, glancing at Dean. No, it wasn't Castiel's fault, because Castiel would never do anything to hurt Dean. Except he had before, hadn't he? He took a step towards Dean but stopped when Sam lifted the blade threateningly. Not for Sam's sake but for Dean's, Castiel stopped; he knew that Dean couldn't hurt Sam but he would want to anyway if Sam threatened Castiel again.

"Take your hands off him!" Castiel snapped, and he was gratified to see that the girl flinched and dropped Dean's wrists immediately. Good, she had learned. "What do you mean by 'it makes it better,' Dean?" Castiel asked. "Makes what better?"

Dean's entire body went still, then he started to tremble. His hand inched back towards his wrist, but Clem hesitantly knocked it away when it touched the bandage, glancing nervously at Castiel. Dean searched for answers in his brother's face and the angel's stiff posture, in the paint chips from the sigil and the shards of glass on the floor, in his too-big shirt and his bandages that needed to be changed, in Clem hovering next to him and the other kids standing stony-faced behind, in the whisper of the wind through the window frame and the cold whiteness of snowfall. "I don't know," he said at last, starting to cry. He curled in on himself—shoulders collapsed, neck bent, wrists placed on his forehead—, not wanting anyone to look at him, not wanting to be spoken to, not wanting to speak, just wanting to close his eyes and find that gray nothingness in his dreams and hide there, weightless, suspended, alone.

No, that was wrong. He wanted Castiel to come over to him, to grip him tight and raise him from this hell. He shuddered.

"Dean!" Sam's voice was pained and he glanced back and forth between his brother and Cas, indecision paralyzing him. He wanted to go to Dean and hold him, but he couldn't just put his blade down so easily, not when Cas was right there and by no means trustworthy. He wanted to run up to the angel and cut him in a thousand tiny places until he fixed Dean, but Sam knew that Dean would never let him do that, order from Cas or no. So Sam stood there, motionless, and watched as his brother fell apart.

Castiel's need to go to Dean finally overwhelmed his muddled impression that there was a reason he was not supposed to use his Grace on Sam. He closed the distance between himself and Dean in a matter of seconds, and when Sam tried to attack Castiel just pushed him away, shoved him up against the wall and held him there.

The angel stared down at Clem for a long moment, remembering how her hands had been on Dean before Castiel had made his claim, how she had no doubt continued to touch and caress him even after Castiel had made it clear that Dean was off limits to her. His anger rose in his Grace, but Dean gave a hiccoughing sob that stopped Castiel short. Dean was the important one here—the girl's punishment could wait until later. With a wave of his hand, Castiel threw her almost gently back to her friends in the doorway, who cushioned her fall. Then he was finally alone with Dean, in the flesh, for the first time since before the hunter had been taken. Castiel reached out a hand and wiped a tear from Dean's face. "Don't cry, my hunter, it will be all right."

Castiel touching him was like lightening because it was real, it was physical, it wasn't just a dream, and here they were, together in spite of Sam's efforts to keep them apart. But Dean found that he couldn't stop crying, couldn't say, "Yes, I know," couldn't do anything except lean into the angel with fear leaping in his veins and stuttering in his heart. Though he drew his arms away from his face, he didn't put them around the angel; they stayed tight against his chest, hands curled under his chin. Castiel, though, cradled him there for a moment and Dean wondered if this was goodbye to Sam and the others, if he would be gone forever now. He turned his head to look at where Sam was pressed against the wall as if a demon held him there instead of an angel, and he desperately wanted Sam to come over and fix the bandage on his wrist, which was loose and bloodstained and left little scribbles of blood on Castiel's coat when Dean moved. He couldn't stand the look on Sam's face, couldn't stand the panic and the pain and the defeat. He continued to cry, couldn't stop, even though Castiel had ordered him to, and it shocked him and scared him. "I'm sorry," he choked. "I can't stop, I can't—"

"Dammit!" Sam struggled wildly against his invisible bonds, and wished for the first time that he was still drinking demon blood, even still going darkside, just so that he would be able to _do_ something against Cas. He had been stupid to think that he could threaten the angel with a blade as if he were another human, and now… "Please!" The word ripped from him on a rush of desperate breath. "Don't take my brother, Cas; don't take him any further away from me. I'm _begging _you!" And Sam was and he didn't care because Dean was still crying and babbling apologies as though he had committed some horrible sin, and Sam couldn't see Cas's face from here and couldn't be sure that the angel wasn't about to just fly off. "Cas, look at him! Is that what you want? He doesn't even know who he is anymore!"

Castiel loosened his grip on Dean, glanced over his shoulder at Sam before returning his attention to his hunter. Dean was still shaking and sobbing, and Castiel frowned because this wasn't what he wanted at all.

"Dean was fine until you took him away from me!" he snapped, raising his eyes to the huddle of pathetic children in the entrance to the room. But even as he spoke Castiel knew that wasn't quite true, because he had been punishing Dean.

He forced himself to focus on that memory, to trace it back to others. Dean had needed to be punished because he had tried to trap Castiel. But that had been because Castiel had been acting strangely, except... Castiel had only been acting as he should. The tenuous thread of memory snapped, leaving Castiel wondering once more what it was that he couldn't remember. It was important, he knew, but... He hissed angrily as the thoughts slipped away from him again.

"Would you like me to take you away, Dean?" Castiel asked almost desperately, hoping that Dean's answer would be able to clear some of the confusion from his mind. "They can't stop us now."

Dean sucked in his breath and held it. Leave with Castiel. It was what he'd been longing for, and he should tell Castiel yes, yes, please, he should rest his hand on the angel's face and wait to be taken far, far away. But instead he tugged himself away from Castiel just a little bit and turned to look at his brother. His hand found the flesh on his other wrist now and he broke the skin with his nail. One of the kids made a pained sound, and a few seconds later, as Dean stood there with his thumbnail digging into his arm, blood leaking from him, Castiel took both his hands and held onto them. It made him nervous, having Castiel stopping him.

He looked at his brother, who was waiting for an answer. Waiting for Dean to say yes, probably, and Sam was probably talking to him because his lips were moving, but Dean couldn't hear his words. All that was apparent was the rushing of blood through his ears, the sound of Castiel's trench coat crinkling as he shifted in place. Sam didn't even matter anymore. Not to be heard, not to be seen. Dean shut his eyes.

But he could still see his brother, see his idiot face with his puppy dog eyes and his worry lines. And he could feel, deep in his bones, a conviction that Sam was precious. That Sam could not be abandoned.

Dean looked at Castiel. "I can't leave Sam," he heard himself saying. "He's my little brother, I gotta take care of him. I can't just leave him, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." As he craned his neck to look at Sam, he tugged his hands from Castiel's. He didn't move away from the angel, though, instead gripping his trench coat with one fist as if Castiel was a lifeline.

Sam had closed his eyes when Dean looked at Cas, waiting for his brother's assent, for that final flutter of wings as Castiel took away the last of Sam's family, so when Dean finally did speak, his eyes flew open in shock. Dean had chosen to stay with him. Sam's met his brother's gaze as his eyes misted over, and it took a few tries before he could speak around the lump in his throat. When he did it wasn't anything profound or special. Just Dean's name, whispered in disbelief and hope. It was the wrong reason to stay, Sam knew, but it was _a_ reason and that was enough.

The force gripping him eased and he slid down the wall to land unsteadily on his feet. A moment later he was moving towards his brother, who still had one hand wrapped around Cas's coat like a nervous toddler. The angel blade hit the floor somewhere between Sam's feet touching the floor and his arms wrapping around Dean, and Sam didn't even care that Cas was still there, potentially deadly and way too close, because Dean was finally starting to be himself again.

Sam was crying. Just a little, but dammit if Dean ever meant to make his brother cry. "Sammy," he said, using his free hand to hug him tight, "you're a mess. See? This is why I can't just leave you." But then he crushed his face against Sam's shoulder and hung on, hand sliding on Castiel's coat, trying to understand why Castiel had let Sam come to him and realizing he'd done it for no other reason than to please Dean. It was beyond his comprehension that someone would do something just to make him happy. Dean was too insignificant to be worthy of such kindness. Even so, he held his brother like something that could slip away in an instant, like something to be kept close and safe.

He didn't let go of Castiel, though. He needed him.

For his part, Castiel was experiencing a conflict of emotions. Dean seemed happier, at least, with Sam around. Castiel did not want to share, but he did want Dean happy. So perhaps he could tolerate this. At the same time, Castiel knew that Dean had chosen Sam, and it made part of Castiel angry enough to wipe Sam away, tear him from Dean's mind so that only Castiel remained as a choice. But that part of him was small and tired, blown out in a burst of gemstones and silver leaves, and Castiel found he could ignore it. If this would make Dean happy, then he would tolerate it.

Dean's hand never left Castiel's jacket and he found himself staring down at the reddish brown smears that trailed up Dean's hand and across his fingers to soil the clean lines of Castiel's coat. He thought of Dean's bloody finger breaking open the wound on his wrist and felt uneasy. That was not how Dean Winchester dealt with problems. When had it started? Was it Castiel's fault? The angel shook his head once, banishing the thought. He had only ever helped Dean, as he was doing now. The angel rested his fingertips over Dean's pulse and sent a soothing burst of Grace into the flesh, cleansing infection, smoothing over skin and scar until nothing remained of the injury. His Grace arrowed through Dean to the other arm and did the same there. Dean need not harm himself any further.

Dean's wrists and hand tingled so he loosed his brother to look at one, keeping the other hand firmly clenching Castiel's coat. The chafing marks on his wrists were gone, as were the wounds from his fingers and the angry burn Sam had left on the back of his hand. He felt a moment of distress because the pain was gone and he needed that pain, he needed it like he needed air to breathe and food to eat, and he made a soft strangled noise in the back of his throat. He looked back at Castiel, though, and saw in his eyes that it had been a gift, a kindness. He shifted awkwardly, trying to convince himself that he didn't need to mar his wrists again, and grasped for Sam to keep his other hand occupied. He laced his fingers with his brother's and held on hard.

Sam frowned Dean whimpered, eyes darting furiously over to see what Castiel was doing now. To his surprise he saw the red marks on Dean's arm fading away into new skin, and a quick check confirmed that the angel had healed the other wrist too. It was a very _Cas_ gesture and it confused Sam even more. The angel in front of him was clearly not the being that had watched Sam through the window with murderous white eyes, but he still wasn't right. For all his apparent rationality and kindness, this Cas still seemed to think that Dean being like this was okay. Taking a step back, Sam squeezed Dean's fingers comfortingly. At least he was better.

Dean squeezed Sam's hand back and looked at his brother, grateful for his concern. Then he flinched when he saw Sam's face again and remembered how he'd hurt him. "Sam," he mumbled. He wanted to apologize, but couldn't. What he'd done was right; Sam had threatened Castiel, so Dean had been forced to fight him. Even so… He tugged his hand out of Sam's and gingerly touched his brother's face.

Castiel did not miss the sadness on Dean's face when he looked at Sam, and it bothered him. Dean was supposed to be happy now, and seeing Sam hurt, even though it was for good reason, was preventing that. Luckily, it was an easy problem for Castiel to solve. Nudging Dean's hand out of the way with his own, Castiel brushed his fingers over Sam's face, restoring his damaged body. The angel kept his eyes fixed on Dean, though, hoping to catch some sign that the hunter's mind was more at ease.

Sam flinched at the unexpected contact, pulling back. But before he could even begin to process how terrified he was that Cas was about to break him the way he'd broken Dean, the angel dropped his hand. Cautiously, Sam blinked, and it didn't hurt. When he touched his nose, it was straight, and the swelling was totally gone. As hard as it was to believe, Castiel had actually healed him. Sam turned to the angel, a reflexive "thank you" on his lips, but he stopped. Castiel wasn't even looking at him; he was still staring at Dean and only Dean. Of course. It wasn't Cas being Cas again, it was whatever this was trying to please Dean. Sam bit down on the words and looked at his brother instead.

When the wounds on Sam's face disappeared, Dean couldn't control the feeling of relief that wash through him. He wept, touched Sam's cheek, then realized that he was paying attention to the wrong person. He turned to Castiel, face glowing. "Thank you," he choked. "Thank you. I didn't deserve—" He couldn't speak anymore, and so reached for Castiel, pressing close to him until the tears had faded. Then he looked up at the angel and smiled. "Thank you."

Sam bit his lip to keep from yelling at Cas again as Dean started groveling. Angering the angel wouldn't help their situation any. Sam backed up a little more and glanced over to the kids, who were still standing huddled nervously in the doorway. He wanted to tell them to get away, take whoever's car they had arrived in and just start driving, but that might upset this fragile peace and he couldn't afford to do that. So he put them out of his mind for the moment and turned to Cas.

"What are you going to do?"

Cas gave Sam a disbelieving stare. "I am going to stay with my hunter, of course." His tone emphasized how ridiculous he considered the question to be. "Dean needs me."

Sam ground his teeth. Dean only needed Cas because the angel had done something to him that neither of them would tell him about.

"Maybe if Castiel stays the nightmares will go away forever," Dean said. It was half to himself, but he could feel people looking at him and he ducked his head. "Castiel took me out of my nightmare last night. Castiel can keep me safe," he said firmly.

"Dean," said one of the kids behind him, and he craned his neck to see Clem, looking at him cautiously, "do you mean the nightmare you were having before all this started? The one you told me about when I came to your apartment before all this happened?"

Dean thought back through his muddled memories and could faintly recall what Clem was referencing. He nodded.

"But I didn't have mine at all last night. Cas told us they weren't natural, so why…" She trailed off, looking puzzled. "I mean, at first I thought it was this," she said, tugging on her hex bag, "but you had one too and you still got the dream, so…"

Dean shook his head and frowned, glancing at Sam furtively and biting his lip.

"Dean? What is it?" Sam asked.

Dean curled his shoulders in and stared at the floor. He was too ashamed to answer his brother, so he spoke to Clem instead. "I took it off. Sam fell asleep and I took it off."

Sam wanted to be angry with Dean but he couldn't be because a theory was forming inside his mind and he had to cement it in quickly. "You took it off?" he asked, and Dean's head sunk lower like a dog waiting to be kicked. "No, Dean, it's okay," Sam added quickly. "But you're sure you didn't have the nightmare until after the hex bag was gone?" His brother nodded miserably, still not looking up. "It's okay, Dean," Sam repeated, beginning to pace.

"Okay," he started, thinking out loud. "These dreams got blocked by hex bags, so they're not natural. Magical then, but… not a specific curse, or it would only be blocked by a specific charm. So something more widespread, but only affecting some people—" Sam glanced up at Clem with wide eyes. "Clem, have you ever come into contact with any witches?"

The girl shook her head and Sam's stomach dropped. Damn. He had been so sure….

"What about Professor Johnson?" Andy reminded her pointedly. The girl's face flushed.

"Andy, I thought you weren't going to bring him up again! The man's hospitalized, let him be!"

"Wait, who?" Sam crossed to where the others stood, keeping one eye on Cas and Dean. Clem whirled away from Andy angrily to face Sam.

"He was my American Studies professor last semester," she answered shortly. "And he has nothing to do with this. He's been sick with pneumonia for the past month."

"Aww, poor guy. I bet you visit him all the time, don't you?" Andy smirked, but his gaze was sharp.

"You're just jealous that the professor's got more game than you," Keith said to Andy, earning him a glare from the other boy.

"Keith!" Clem yelped, eyes narrowing angrily. The student had the grace to look ashamed.

"Jeez, Clem, it was a joke! Sorry."

Sam put a hand on Clem's shoulder before the argument could continue, forcing her to turn back to him. "Clem, this is important okay? Was he a witch or not?"

"No! I don't know!" She dropped her gaze. "He did have some really weird old books though. Like, creepy weird. Kept them kind of hidden. I probably wouldn't have known he had them if I haven't accidentally knocked his briefcase off his desk." She cleared her throat.

"And how did you knock his briefcase off his desk, Clem, pray tell?" Andy demanded.

"He was being a bastard," she snarled. "Not so different from you, as it turns out."

Andy's face reddened and he opened his mouth to say something, but Jenny cut him off. "Stop being such an asshole, Andy. Why, Sam, is it important?"

"It might be." Sam returned to his pacing, turning over all the pieces and trying to make them fit. If his theory was correct… Sam stopped pacing and turned to where Cas was still holding Dean, eyes tracking Sam's every movement.

"Cas, I have an idea but I don't know if you're gonna like it." The angel shifted slightly, but other than that remained silent. 'If whatever this is got to you too, it could be affecting you without your knowledge." Actually Sam was pretty damn sure it was affecting Cas, but he had to tread carefully. He didn't want to give the angel any excuse to start smiting. "So, here." Sam pulled off his hex bag and held it out towards the angel, trying to be as calm and nonthreatening as possible. "Just, you know, put it on and let me know if anything feels different. Do it for Dean."

Castiel stared at the pouch in Sam's hand suspiciously. He was perfectly fine, and he wasn't sure if he trusted Sam enough to let him put strange charms on him. What if the sachet had some sort of binding in it and they took Dean away again while he was disabled? Paranoia was an acidic taste in the back of the angel's mouth.

At the same time, Castiel could feel his Grace slowly starting to build again, and he had no desire to experience that excruciating strain when it overflowed. Perhaps this would help him control it, at least a little. Castiel realized how relaxed he had been in the past few minutes, despite Sam's threats, and wondered if it was the lack of power that allowed him to feel so comfortable. It was a ridiculous notion of course because Grace was the core of an angel, made him what he was instead of the weak and helpless shell he had been before.

Castiel never wanted to go back there, never wanted a task as simple as flight to use him up so completely ever again. He had a terrible feeling that whatever Sam might do would take away his newfound Grace once more, and it was that thought that decided him.

"How can I trust you, Sam? For all I know this is a trick to restrain me and steal Dean away again." Castiel smiled gently. "I _am _doing this for Dean. How am I to properly defend what is mine if my strength is diminished?" At his words the tension level in the room rose, and Dean became visibly anxious again. Castiel ran his fingers through the man's hair along with a trickle of Grace through his veins to calm him.

At the feeling of Castiel's hand in his hair, Dean loosed his hand from Castiel's coat and pressed his face against his shoulder instead, breathing in his scent and wrapping his arms around him. He didn't remember whatever had been bothering him before, but it didn't matter because he was Castiel's, and Castiel would keep him safe. Castiel cradled him close, still caressing his hair, and Dean relaxed, happy.

"But if something's affecting you, Cas, it could be hurting you. And if you are messed up somehow, then you can't really take care of Dean, can you?"

Sam's words cut through Dean's bliss slightly, and Dean lifted his head, trying to focus. "Something could be hurting Castiel?" he asked, and Sam nodded. Dean pulled away briefly, examining the angel. "But how?"

Castiel growled in displeasure, and Dean shrank against him. Alarm was growing in Dean's stomach despite the comforting touch of the angel.

"We don't know, Dean," Sam said slowly. "That's why I want him to put this on. To see if there is something hurting him."

Dean's eyes brightened with tears again and he tugged Castiel's coat with one hand. "You could be hurt?" he asked, voice small. He let go of the angel and fumbled at the hex bag that still hung from his own neck, holding it out to him. "I don't want you hurt," he said. "Please, Castiel, put it on. If you don't like it you can take it off again. But please. You can't be hurt."

Castiel's eyes flicked from Sam to Dean and back again. He was no fool—it was clear that Sam was manipulating Dean into agreeing with him, and that made Castiel angry. But at the same time, Dean was afraid for him and Castiel wanted to put his hunter's mind at ease, despite his own growing discomfort. Slowly, not quite hesitantly, he took the pouch from Dean and slipped the leather cord over his head.


End file.
